KNOCK. KNOCK.

Murray: It's open.

GCW’s Head of Security, Toad, steps into the Commissioner’s office with all the poise and grace of a brontosaurus. Andy Murray, suit-clad, discards his Jay Terror stress ball and rises to his full 6’7".

Murray: Ah yes, Toad. Welcome to my office. D’you like what I’ve done with the place?

The hardcore legend casts his unimpressed gaze around the room. A painting hanging behind GBJ’s desk catches his eye: it’s the entire Garbage Bag clan, beards and all, with a photograph of a bearded Andy Murray taped to the background.

Toad: S’alright. What the hell d’you want?

Murray: Charming. I have a special assignment for you tonight; one that I think you’ll excel at. It involves a lot of gurning, scowling, and generally looking a bit nasty. You can handle that, can’t you?

Toad nods, folding his arms across his chest.

Murray: Good. Basically, I need you to watch my door, especially while I’m wrestling. Garbage Bag Murray is a wanted man, you see. All kinds of evildoers and ne’er-do-wells are going to come looking for trouble now that I’m the boss, and I need a big ugly mook to ward them off.

Still Toad says nothing; just stares at the acting Commish.

Murray: Now normally this would be Shaman’s job, but I don’t know if I could work with him. He’s tough, sure, but I need somebody with a bit more mental stability.

Toad: I ate a lightbulb.

Murray: Brilliant.

The King is overcome by a strange blend of bewilderment and horror. Toad’s face remains expressionless. Sensing that he may not have made the right choice, Murray forces a smile.

Murray: Alright then, get to work. Keep the slime out of my office tonight and I’ll buy you some battery acid to wash that lightbulb down.

Toad grunts and goes to leave the office. As soon as the passes through the door, though, a swift figure almost knocks him off his feet. Andy, startled by the commotion, pops his head out the door.

Murray: Sparkles, what the hell are you doing? You almost took out my doorman.

Tempest spins on her heel almost as quickly as she had bowled over Toad. Dressed in street clothes; a pair of dark jeans, a little black tank top, purple Doc Marten boots and a jacket to match, Tempest takes a deep breath and exhales, adopting something resembling her usual smile.

Tempest: Sorry Toad. Learn to not take up the whole hallway, mmmk? Andy…

She nods at the de facto commish, shifting her weight uncomfortably.

Murray: Bloody Nora, you’re a bit blusterous tonight. What happened? Somebody pee in your Cornflakes?

Tempest huffs. It would be adorable but for that glint in her eye.

Tempest: Something about being robbed at the last minute of what I’ve been after for months at Rampage just isn’t sitting right. Call me crazy, but I think I may have to hurt someone.

Murray: That’s what Shipley does, I guess. Sorry you had to find out the hard way.

Tempest folds her arms.

Tempest: You weren’t so sympathetic when you were out there in the ring making fun of me a couple weeks ago. What was that?

Murray: Chill the beans. Just like Tim Shipley pisses everybody off, I take the piss out of everybody. Besides, we were only trying to mess with Cheap.

Tempest’s petulant scowl makes it clear she isn’t in the mood to be so easily swayed.

Tempest: Oh, like that’s a challenge! Couldn’t you have gone after his mother? Being imprisoned doesn’t mean I didn’t see it. A little support would have been nice. But don’t worry about it. I’m gonna take care of Cheap if he’s stupid enough to show up again. You won’t have to worry about him anymore.

Murray: Well don’t do anything stupid, especially not tonight. This is my show, and as much as I like you, I gotta keep a lid on things. As far as I’m concerned, that little prat got what was coming to him at Rampage.

Tempest: What was coming to him?

Tempest stares incredulously.

Tempest: He got the final win! Ok, you took care of your problems your way and that’s great. But Shipley didn’t walk out on the Rampage final. He lined up his little army of goons, one of which I thought was my friend, and sent them after me. So now, I’m gonna have to take care of things my way to see that it doesn’t happen again and that he doesn’t think he gets to walk away unscathed.

The Scottish King of Cool sighs deeply as the evening’s first real test presents itself.

Murray: Look, you have a good reason to be pissed off with Shipley, but I’m not going to let you do anything rash. I’m sorry, but I have to put my foot down. If Shipley starts some shit with you tonight then you have my full permission to finish it, but it’s my neck that’s on the line if anything goes wrong tonight. You’re a good lass, Sparkles. Don’t step out of line.

Tempest’s lip curls into what almost looks like a snarl, before resolving quickly into a smile.

Tempest: Of course. I wouldn’t want to do anything to mess up your big night. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a party to throw.

With that, Tempest turns and sashays away, her hair flicking back and forth fitfully. The King, meanwhile, just groans.

It’s going to be a long night.

Back to Top

Screaming fans, exploding pyrotechnics, flashing strobes, and Rage Against The Machine’s bombast take you from your living room and into the Honda Center. A maelstrom of colours, lights and sounds overwhelm the senses as the camera pans around tens of thousands of rabid fans and their home-made signs:-

"STUNNING" SCOTT STEVENS: 1405BC-2010AD. GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN.

CHRIS BAGWELL STOLE MY STEROIDS!

I <3 TESSA’S SHIRT!

Bryan: Ladies and Gentlemen we are LIVE from the Honda Center here in Anaheim, California! I’m James Bryan and aside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague David Yale!

The camera cuts away from the fans and down to ringside. JB is looking as dapper as ever in a grey pinstripe suit, while Dave is decked-out in one of his favourite turtleneck sweatshirts.

Yale: Thanks JB, and folks do we have one hell of a show lined-up for you tonight! Garbage Bag Johnny may be out of town but acting Commissioner Andy Murray has ensured fireworks by booking one of the most potentially action-packed WorldWides we’ve seen in some time!

Bryan: The Scottish King of Cool has a tough night ahead of him, though. Presiding over the GCW locker-room and making sure that everything goes according to plan is one hell of a task! Is Andy up to it, or will the show decend into chaos?

Yale: That remains to be seen, but he’s certianly got a huge job on on his hands! Andy Murray as boss isn’t the only talking point, though: just look at the card, it’s absolutely stacked! Up first we’ve got Clyde Fox, a main who main evented at Rampage, taking on the always unpredictable David Spencer!

Bryan: Clyde will be looking to redeem himself after a valiant effort at Rampage! He came within a fraction of a second of becoming GCW World Champion, but ultimately came-up short! It’s not going to be easy against Spencer, though.

Yale: Spencer has a lot to prove after his disappointing exit from the Rampage tournament, but make no mistake, this guy is a menace! We saw just how dangerous he can be as "Face", and how he’s looking to establish himself as a genuine GCW threat once again. I can’t wait for this match, JB.

Bryan: What about Rasa taking on SurReal, Dave? Both of these wrestlers could use a win. Rasa was defeated by Tempest at Rampage in the semi-finals, and SurReal has been suspiciously quiet as of late! This is a true "must win" for both of these wrestlers.

Yale: Absolutely, JB, and what a clash of styles! SurReal’s the un-flashy, slow-moving technician, and Rasa’s like a bolt of lightning at times! This one’s going to be all over the place, much like Tempest vs Phil Atken!

Bryan: Atken’s been working his way through title shots since his GCW return, but he’s yet to find his feet in any division. The outspoken Scot has made his feelings on women in wrestling very clear in the past: will they come back to haunt him tonight?

Yale: Tempest is still reeling from that Rampage loss to Tim Shipley, so you know she’s going to burst out of the gates like a greyhound tonight! Atken has got his hands full, but don’t rule Phil out. He’s a competant athlete with a real mean streak, and he’s not afraid to cheat to get the job done. This is going to be a lot closer than it looks!

Bryan: After that we’ve got a Rampage victor, Chris Bagwell, taking on Aaron Fujita! And Dave, I’m still not entirely convinced by Bagwell’s change of attitude as of late… but come on, he’s not going to lose to Aaron Fujita. Is he?!

Yale: I don’t know, JB. Chris Bagwell’s lost the edge that made him stand out in the first place. He’s made friends with Andy Murray of all people, and completely lost his way. Sure, he looked impressive at Rampage, but this isn’t the Chris Bagwell I used to cheer for! If there ever was a time to defeat Chris Bagwell, this is it. This might just be the biggest night of young Fujita’s career!

Bryan: Speaking Bagwell and his alliances. Murray. Sykes. PTC Elite Title Tournament.

Yale: This is a dream match for the twenty-first century, JB! Both of these athletes are at the top of their game: it’s GCW’s longest-reigning World Champion against the brand new SCCW Universal Champion. I can’t wait!

Bryan: Murray may have the home field advantage but this is going to be a tough, tough match for The King. Sykes is a fantastic wrestler who’s really come into his own lately, and I wouldn’t be entirely surprised to see Murray fall tonight!

Yale: Pssshht. No SCCW goon is gonna stroll into GCW and defeat one of our own. No way!

Bryan: But if we’re talking star power, how about this for a main event: Tim Shipley vs. Jay Terror!

Yale: It’s the 2010 Rampage Tournament Winner against the former Outlaw. Two of the most reviled men in GCW history are gonna go toe-to-toe and it’s going to be epic!

Bryan: This is PPV-quality match-up, Dave. Tim Shipley is on fire: he’s the 2010 Rampage champion and he’s ascending the ladder faster than anyone I can remember. He’s a crafty, wiley personality who’s not afraid to get his hands dirty, and his technical skills are second-to-none!

Yale: But Jay Terror is a BEAST, JB! This is the toughest test of Shipley’s skills thus far, and he won’t be able to walk out on this one! Terror is a mean dude who’ll doubtless be full of bile and venom after losing at Rampage, and he’s going to take it out on his former Just Wrestling employer!

Bryan: Expect a classic, Ladies and Gentlemen. And hey, what about Tessa Windsor? She’s not scheduled to be wrestling tonight, but you know the new GCW World Heavyweight Champion is gonna be in the house to celebrate!

Yale: Of course she is, JB. I’m not the biggest Tessa Windsor fan, but nobody can say she doesn’t deserve this. She's been grafting up the GCW card for years, and finally she has her reward. But with great power comes great peril; soon the contenders will draw their knives. From now on, Tessa is going to have to be on her toes 24/7, because she’s got a big ol’ target on her back now!

Bryan: You’re 100% correct, Dave. It’s taken Tessa quite some time to get there, but finally she’s at the top of the mountain. Tonight we’ll find out what kind of champion she’s going to be!

Yale: These are fascinating times, JB. Tessa Windsor is GCW World Champion, Tim Shipley is the Rampage Champion, and Andy Murray is the boss! Who could have imagined?

Bryan: This show, if nothing else, is gonna be one heck of a ride! Welcome to WorldWide 134!

Back to Top

Bryan: What an exciting show we have to look forward to, Dave. Six huge matches -- Andy Murray has outdone himself in his one-night role in Garbage Bag Johnny’s shoes!

Yale: I hope he doesn’t have to wear Johnny’s actual shoes, though. The sights they’ve seen...

Bryan: We’re scheduled to start things off as is traditional, Dave, by hearing from our new World Heavyweight Champion. It’s been a long time since GCW has even had one of those.

Yale: LeStatt Knight’s retirement really left a gaping hole in GCW’s core, but the Gold Star group fought tooth and nail for the right to succeed the legend as Champion.

Bryan: And now Tessa Windsor has that opportunity!

Ring announcer Joey Andrews takes to the ring, as the lights come up and the cheering from the crowd that has rung out since the start of tonight’s WorldWide at last starts to die down.

Andrews: Ladies and gentlemen... Please welcome your NEW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION...

The roar is incredible.

Bryan: We’re just moments away, Dave. This is Tessa Windsor’s time. Finally.

Andrews: TESSSSSSSAAAAAAAA...

Yale: Wait. That’s not Tessa Windsor!

A dark-clad figure leaps the security barricade and charges into the ring before he can be stopped. Clutching two beer cans in his right hand and a folded-up chair in his left, the blond-haired man shoves Joey Andrews roughly aside and raises his arms up, soaking in a growing chorus of boos as his face is recognized.

Bryan: What is Tim Shipley doing in the ring? In street clothes no less!

Yale: JB, I hardly think this is the time for a lesson in sartorial elegance. And from you of all people.

Clad in a black jardigan (it’s like a cardigan, but with a lapel!) over a tight grey t-shirt and white Hackett trousers, which entirely by coincidence is exactly what Hyde wore last Wednesday, Shipley folds out his chair in ring centre and retreats to the ropes, leaning on them as he pops open one of his cans. A spray of white foam flecks across the canvas.

Bryan: Dave, we’re supposed to be hearing from Tessa Windsor! It says so right here on my segment booking print-out!

Yale: Oh, relax. Look, Tessa’s only a late write-in after they scratched out some guy called "Shane", anyway. This kind of thing changes all the time. Why not show a little respect to the winner of the 2010 Rampage Tournament?

Shipley seems to be wondering the same thing, as he now spreads his arms at Joey Andrews – yes, the same guy he just shoved out of the spotlight, who is now fuming outside the ring – and enquires as to why he doesn’t get a "Ladies and gentlemen" moment of his own. Andrews bad-temperedly rolls his microphone into the ring for Shipley to do it himself.

Bryan: Tim Shipley went through a lot at Rampage, with three matches in one night, and he’s got to still be feeling that. There looks to be some padding on the shoulder under his t-shirt, judging by the bulge.

Yale: Either that or he’s smuggling crumpets.

Bryan: He also took a fall high on his neck from Tempest’s Lollipop Drop and I bet Shipley has been stiff.

Yale: Are you going to end every sentence trying to get a dick joke out of me?

Shipley slurps from the top of his beer and grins wickedly out at the fans, who have grown tired of showering him with noise, instead targeting their chanting towards getting the World Heavyweight Champion out into the ring.

"TES-SA! TES-SA! TES-SA!"

Bryan: These fans don’t want to hear from Shipley. They want to see Tessa Windsor. They want to see the Champion.

Yale: Just shows that there’s no accounting for taste.

Bryan: Shipley did win Rampage, following in the footsteps of longest reigning GCW World Heavyweight Champion -- and his sworn enemy -- Andy Murray.

Yale: And Tessa might just have to be looking over her shoulder from this very first night of her reign as Champion. Now that Shipley has won Rampage, Garbage Bag Johnny will have to follow through on his promise to give Tim Shipley a shot at whatever title he chooses.

Shipley swigs from his beer once more, before weighing the can in his hand and cruelly hurling it, still half-full, into the crowd. He peers out, his hand placed mockingly across his brow.

Shipley: I hit anybody?

Boos ring out.

Shipley: Good. Send your insurance claim by way of the front office, I know there’s nothing Johnny loves coming back to after a holiday more than a pile of bills. Well -- except a roomful of dead fichuses. But I can arrange for that too.

He steps forward and slips comfortably into his seat, lounging over it, his jacket hanging off him.

Shipley: So, how’s everyone tonight here in Anaheim?

His monotone acidly mocks the tried-and-trusted pop technique, to which the fans respond with stony silence.

Shipley: Not so good? Well, never fear. I just arranged for every single one of you, um, except those under the age of 18... to have exclusive Q-jump to California’s -- nay, this country’s hottest entertainment moment of 2010!

Yale: Lindsay Lohan’s coming-out party?

Bryan: AWC All Summer L--- errrrr, Lindsay Lohan’s coming-out party?

Shipley: YES THAT’S RIGHT MY FRIENDS, please check under your seats for your exclusive, non-transferable wristband! All you need to do is put it on -- come on, ladies and gentlemen. Don’t say I never did anything for you.

There is a commotion around the Honda Center as fans scrabble around under their seats, lifejacket-style, to find tearaway wristbands attached. They’re blank, which causes some puzzlement.

Yale: Hey, we’ve got some too!

Bryan: Help me put mine on, Dave. You know, maybe Tim Shipley’s not so bad after all. I wonder where he’s taking us -- us and 17,000 fans?! The wristbands don’t say anything on them at all!

Shipley: Everybody got their completely free, once-in-a-lifetime wristband? Just fold it over on itself and squeeze the two sides together to secure.

He paces around the ring, looking around at the fans, who’ve quieted down somewhat.

Bryan: Why haven’t you put yours on, Dave?!

Yale: I, uh, fashion reasons.

Shipley: All right. All right. Great. Now, if my friend out there in the back could hit the lights...

He waits a moment, and presently the arena is plunged into complete darkness. A second later, a series of blacklights begin to fuzz into action, illuminating anything sensitive to UV exposure. Shipley’s teeth gleam in the darkness as an ugly chuckle begins to sound over the PA. Gradually, the fans realize why.

Yale: HAHAHAHA! Oh, JB, look at your wrist!

Bryan: I... what... oh, damn it.

The wristband on James Bryan’s arm isn’t so blank anymore. And nor are those of the 17,000 fans in attendance. Those who were gullible enough to put them on are now staring in horror at the words stenciled in UV pen, shining like beacons in the darkness, the words repeated on every wrist: "I AM A FUCKING DICKHEAD."

Shipley: HEY THAT’S RIGHT EVERYBODY, you just got Q-jump tickets to your own fucking mortifications.

Bryan: I can’t get it off, Dave!

James Bryan, just like everyone else wearing the abominable wristbands, is trying and failing to pull his off with his fingers. But as anyone who’s been to a concert this decade knows, you’re going to need a sharp implement to cut off one of these babies.

Shipley: Looks like you’re all stuck with a stark reminder of how completely pathetic each and every single one of you is. Hard luck.

The chants of "ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE!" are so deliciously righteous that even the most jobsworthy TV censor is fighting to find some excuse not to tune them out from the sound mix.

Shipley: Lights.

They snap back on almost immediately, GCW wanting to put its paying audience out of its misery. Shipley is sitting in his chair, sipping on his second beer.

Shipley: Now, honesty time. Who put on the wristband? Hands in the air. Come on, I want to count how many utterly brainless morons we have here tonight out of seventeen thousand. Come to think of it, that’s certainly a statistically significant number. Maybe we can use tonight to conclude once and for all whether Americans really are as completely stupid as the rest of the civilized world thinks you are.

Everyone starts to cheer for Tim Shipley because he’s being so nice. Um, NOT.

Shipley: Oh, apologies for the bad language on the wristbands by the way. I did warn you the event was 18+. I hope no one underage was trying to trick their way in.

Bryan: What a mean trick, Dave!

Yale: You’re still trying to get that thing off?

Shipley: But hey, don’t despair, everyone. Those wristbands HAVE just granted you VIP access to the first ever official Tim Shipley Highlight Reel. Celebrating my entire GCW career to date, this twenty-six minute video was produced earlier this week and details my ascent from---

NOW DANCE, FUCKER, DANCE!

Bryan: Oh thank God! IT’S TESSA TIME!

The Offspring blast out from the speakers as Tim Shipley looks down from the ring with thunderous eyes. The raging guitars are complemented by the harmony of cheers as The Petite in Pink makes her triumphant arrival, sweeping through the curtain with the gleaming golden GCW World Heavyweight Championship over her shoulder.

Bryan: The new Champion is here!

The fans in Anaheim mirror Bryan’s excitement with a tremendous pop of their own. Stalling on the ramp Tessa glares down at Shipley in the ring, obviously none too thrilled that the 2010 Rampage winner is wasting both her time and the fans’ money. With mic in tote, she keeps her eyes glued on the Rampage winner, inferring to him that he needs to skedaddle. Of course, Shipley doesn’t move. Why would anyone have expected him to?

Windsor: I hate to interrupt your party and all Tim, but I think you’re a bit confused as to who this celebration is supposed to belong to.

Her eyes never so much as blink as she edges her way down to the ring. She stops again mid ramp, presumably to give time to Shipley to get the hell on out of there.

Windsor: You see this time has been mine for a long time coming, and I really don’t see any point in sharing it with a man who couldn’t even win Rampage on his own accord.

Shipley: Oh, live a little, Tessa! There’s more than enough room for the two of us in here -- in fact, you’re welcome to finish off my beer.

He holds up the can.

Shipley: It’s got a little warm, and I might’ve backwashed it. But, um, it’s refreshing.

Tessa does not bother to acknowledge him with a response. She instead points her index finger to the back, signaling to Shipley that it is time for him to leave.

Shipley: Wow, you are a killjoy. Living with Chris Storm is really rubbing off on you, hmm?

It bothers the world champ none. Instead she stands there with a smug trouble making smirk that undoubtedly make her husband proud.

Windsor: Funny you should say that. Last I saw of my husband he was racing off to find Rikki Roxx.

Of course the crowd explodes at the mention of Rikki Roxx, cause he’s, like, freaking Rikki Roxx.

Windsor: He said something bout finding shaving cream and water balloon. Yep. We’re just a couple of angry jerks.

She smirks all the while before Shipley cuts back in.

Shipley: Frankly you just sound miserable. GCW’s own Marvin, the Paranoid Android -- arse the size of a planet, and all that... oh wait, am I getting that right?...

He stares openly at Windsor’s who simply rolls her eyes at the comment.

Bryan: I don’t even know the reference, Dave.

Shipley sips once more at his beer, grimacing at the taste, before making sure to throw it over his shoulder -- but stops himself.

Shipley: Oh -- did you want this?

He hurls the half-drunk can up towards Tessa, where it hits with a crash and rolls off to one side, slopping beer all over the ramp. She watches with disgust, a vein beginning to pulse in her temple.

Windsor: Look, as much as I love watching you make an ass out of yourself out here Tim, I think it’s about time we get to what the fans here in Anaheim want to see, you know, like their world champions?

The crowd roars in agreement. Tessa cuts them short by lifting up her hand to silence them.

Windsor: So either you can leave on your own accord, or I can see to it own my own that I get my time, because lord knows I’ve earned it far more than Roxie Sykes...wait…no….you won that match fair and square for yourself, didn’t you?

Shipley considers her request.

Shipley: On the one hand, I could just leave and let you have your fun. But on the other...

He sits back down in his chair.

Shipley: ...what would I get out of that? No. I think I’d rather just stay here. Let’s see what Garbage Bag Murray is prepared to do about it. Between you and me, Tessa, I’d say the King of the Scottish Cesspool is scared of me.

The loud dissent from the fans suggests otherwise.

Bryan: Andy Murray’s win over Shipley at Rampage suggests otherwise!

Yale: Pfff, come off it. Shipley walked out on the match. Once he’d done that, it was Cheap Labor left to fend for himself against Murray and Bagwell. It was a massacre.

Shipley: Sooooo, since we’re both here for the long haul, Tessa...

He slaps his knee.

Shipley: Let’s talk. How does it feel to be the latest beneficiary of the GCW Affirmative Action policy?

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Bryan: What a ridiculous suggestion!

Yale: Three of the four belts are now held by women, JB.

Bryan: But to suggest that Tessa won the belt through anything other than talent and hard work! Honestly.

Shipley: What do you say we introduce a friend to the party, Tessa. Another new Champion... and my favourite misogynist... Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome TRIUUUUUMPHH FROOOOSSST!!!

A bit of Kanye West, a bit of Nas. Tessa drops straight into fighting posture, whipping around anticipating an attack from the Hardcore Champion, her own belt clutched between her hands. But as the entryway remains empty, and Shipley looks confused, she slowly turns and smiles back down toward the ring… just as an explosion shakes the ring and Shipley finds himself bombarded with a hoard of pink glitter, fired at him from all angles.

Bryan: AAARGHH!! What was that!

Yale: Glitter cannons?! Are you kidding me?

Scrabbling at his face to clear the glitter, Shipley is too busy to notice the roar of the crowd and fails to see the reason why as a black haired, sparkly female form leaps the barricade and gracefully ascends the turnbuckle. Pausing just long enough to blow her BFF a kiss, Tempest leaps for the skies and lands a Category Five across the back of a barely turned Tim Shipley. His eyes widened in a brief moment of comprehension.

Bryan: And Tempest joins the party!

Yale: In a heinous and uncalled for attack!

Bryan: Oh give it a rest. After what he pulled on her at Rampage?

Tempest seems to be feeling just that as she lays her size 6 shiny purple Doc Martens to the back of Shipley’s head, but he rolls away and manages to grab her into a take down with him. They roll around trading awkward punches as the crowd roars in support and Tessa Windsor runs down the ramp, hitting the ring and peeling Shipley off Tempest.

Bryan: The champ coming to her BFF’s aid here returning the favor.

Yale: Did you really just say ‘BFF’?

Shipley takes a swing at Tessa, who ducks as Tempest rolls to her feet. Shipley scoops up the now folded chair as the two women circle him. The crowd loves this new scene and roars its approval as Shipley swings at Tempest who dodges easily as he then has to scoot away from a lunge by Windsor.

Bryan: Uh oh, Shipley’s surrounded by a couple of circling lionesses now.

Yale: You know, I’m torn on this affirmative action thing. Dissing awesome talent like Shipley isn’t cool, but this is still pretty hot.

"Hot" is lost on Shipley at the moment, as he hurls insults at the two women and takes another swing only to get caught off balance as Tempest goes low with a capoeira leg sweep and Tessa flies with a beautiful dropkick. Shipley lands unceremoniously on his own chair, clutching his head.

Bryan: Beautiful stereo moves from T’n’T there!

Yale: Is that what they’re called now?

Bryan: Why not? They’re clearly explosive.

Yale: Suck up.

While that may be, Shipley is in no condition to debate the matter and rolls from the ring as tiny boots head his way again.

Tempest bounces over to Tessa and hugs her, while the fans go appropriately bananas. She raises Tessa’s arm while engaging in a little shouting match bets not overheard with Shipley.

Then, while Shipley fumes on the ramp, Tempest whispers in Tessa’s ear and a smile creeps over the World champion’s face. She nods and hands Tempest the mic.

Tempest: First off, I can assure you that Triumph Frost is no massage therapist.

She nods decidedly as much of the crowd laughs and Tessa snickers behind her hand. Tempest looks mildly confused as Shipley palms his face.

Tempest: What? But seriously Shippers, wasn’t stealing my moment at Rampage enough? No? Now you have to try and steal Tessa’s too. Well, let me tell you cupcake, you’re going to have way more important things to worry about than this.

Yale: Did she just call Shipley "cupcake"?

Bryan: She did. And I didn’t know people could turn that violently red.

Indeed, Shipley is beside himself and Tempest merely smiles, that sweet, but deceptively innocent smile.

Tempest: But I’d suggest getting out of here before the ferrets get any deeper into your luggage.

At this Shipley’s eyes go wide and he turns and bolts from the area, much to the crowd’s joy. Tempest waves lightly and Tessa claps. Tempest turns and raises her hands.

Tempest: Now, what you’ve all really been waiting for, my friends, and really, what is so long overdue – May I reintroduce, your GCW World Heavyweight Champion, and my bestest girlfriend, Tessa Windsoooooooooor!

The pop is huge. Seismic sensors nearby register a low level earthquake that leaves geologists flummoxed for years to come. Tessa grins, soaking in what’s been so long in coming. Tempest hands over the mic and hops up and down happily, all smiles for her friend, her own troubles forgotten for the moment. It takes Tessa a moments worth of recollecting herself emotionally before the pint sized diva can finally remember what it is she wanted to say.

Windsor: Bout time, isn’t it?

The Anaheim crowd roars in agreement. It brings an even bigger smile to Tessa’s face.

Windsor: The sad thing is I really don’t have too much to say. I hate to disappoint, but really, there’s not much that I can say other than thanks to each and every one of you out there tonight. Seriously it means a lot to have you guys stuck by my side this whole time. Because lord knows it took me far longer than it should have to get to this point.

Tessa pauses to recollect herself, allowing the crowd another chance to let loose a huge pop.

Windsor: So thanks for everything. I can promise each and every one of you that I will make the years worth of waiting worth it. But let’s get on with the party. Tempest?

She turns back to her best friend who is outside of the ring more than ready to party. On cue balloons and confetti fall from the sky, and Tessa joins her best friend outside of the ring who has already got the champagne popped open and ready. With a brief goodbye wave to the crowd the two head to the back, presumably to continue on with their celebration.

Yale: After the fit she threw with Shipley that’s all she’s got to say?

Bryan: I wouldn’t quite classify her asking him nicely to leave a fit. Not when Shipley’s intruding on her time.

Yale: Her friend attacked him! That’s not polite.

Bryan: Shipley had it coming after his, or rather Roxie’s, actions at Rampage. If he didn’t want a fight, he should not have instigated it.

Back to Top

With every intension to bring the ratings back to normalcy after the snooze fest that is Tim Shitley...err..Shipley, the cameras cut backstage to the office door of our acting company Sheriff. Just outside the office door of Garbage Bag Murray stands everybody's favorite Sultan of the Sun-Tan, Mister Chris Bagwell.

Bagwell is sporting a stylish pair of Aviator sunglasses accented ever-so-gracefully with his brand new t-shirt. Faded yellow in color, the shirt reads "MY ASS WAS TORN!" in bold letters down the front; obviously a direct reference to Bagwell's signature catchphrase, Let it be Known, Let It Be Sworn, You Will Be Torn!

With a bottle of champagne in hand, Chris opens the office door and invites himself in. Inside the office, the Illinoisan King of Cool can be seen fondling his stick-on beard on the mirror, trying to get it to look just right.

Bagwell: I brought some celebratory champagne!

GBM spins away from the mirror, grinning broadly, proud of his handiwork.

GBM: Good evening Bubb--… err, Chris. As your Commissioner, I thank you for bringing such a generous gift but unfortunately I am unable to accept it. Can’t drink on the job, you see. Besides, do you really think that Champagne’s a good idea tonight? You were damn near stumbling out to the ring to congratulate Tessa after the title match last week.

Bagwell: I wouldn't have went out at all if you didn't con me into thinking her shirt ripped and she was out there topless.

GBM: Why, Mr. Bagwell, what the devil are you talking about?

A faux-baffled look crosses the acting Commissioner’s face.

GBM: I, Commissioner Garbage Bag Johnny, do not recall such a conversation. Perhaps you are confusing me for someone else.

Bagwell: Come on, And—

GBM: Silence, boy! You did cop a feel though, didn’t you?

Bagwell: Luckily I was too wasted to get aroused or she'd have felt a little something 'pop up.'

The Dirtiest Dude in Scotland quivers and turns back towards his mirror to continue fiddling with his. But before he's even able to begin, he swings back around.

GBM: What a minute, what the hell does your shirt say?

Chris grabs the sides of his shirt and pulls them outward proudly, showing GBM the shirt's inscription.

GBM: Seriously?

Facepalm, Captain Jean-Luc Picard style.

Bagwell: You like it, ‘ey?

GBM: "My Ass Was Torn"?!

Chris scratches his head.

Bagwell: Now that I think about it, it does have an awkward ring to it.

GBM: Hey man, whatever floats your boat. Or in this case, sinks your battleship.

Garbage Bag Murray turns back towards his mirror to finish up his beard adjustments. Chris places the champagne down on The Admiral's desk before slipping out the door.

Bagwell: I better catch the t-shirt guys before they leave for the night and see if they can't fix this shirt up. Enjoy the champagne, big guy.

Garbage Bag groans.

GBM: For fuck’s sake.

Chris continues out of the office and down the corridor until he reaches his own locker room.

Bagwell: My Ass Was Torn. I like that. I think it's catchy!

Just as he opens the door and enters the room, a large, hooded figure pounces at him with a barbed wire wrapped baseball bat. The hooded man clocks Bagwell upside the head, knocking the Rajah of Ratings to the floor.

Bryan: What the hell!?

Yale: What's going on, JB? Who is that!?

The hooded man raises the baseball bat high into the air and rips it down across Bagwell's chest. Bagwell lets out a painful scream as he curls into a ball. But the hooded man is relentless - he strikes a second and then a third time.

Yale: Somebody's got to get in there!

Bryan: This is unbelievable. Chris Bagwell is in a bad way...

A passer-by in the hallway sees the assault and takes off on a sprint, screaming for help. The yelling catches the hooded man's attention. The hooded man leans in towards Bagwell, whispering something in his ear.

Hooded man: I'm baaaaaack.

Before any security officials can reach Bagwell's locker room, the hooded man decides to take off in the opposite direction. Within a few moments, GCW Security are swarming the area. Arena paramedics accompany them to tend to the fallen Human Hype Machine.

Yale: I don't know what to say, JB. This was completely unprovoked.

Bryan: Chris Bagwell has made a lot of enemies in his career, but I thought the bulk of that was behind him. Apparently, somebody is still holding a grudge.

Yale: Who do you think that was, JB? I mean, at first I thought it might be Rasa, but he's far too massive in size.

Bryan: I don't really know, Dave. If only we could've heard what he whispered to Bagwell before he took off, we might've been able to pin it together. Whoever it is, though - they've got a vicious mind using a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. They were out for blood.

Yale: They sure as hell got that. I just wonder what sort of shape Bagwell will be in for his match with Aaron Fujita later tonight.

Bryan: We'll have to wait for the official word from the paramedics on Chris' condition.

Back to Top

Bryan: Welcome back to ringside, folks! We’re back here live at WorldWide 134 with my broadcast partner, David Yale.

Yale: And what a night it has been so far, JB! We haven’t even had our first contest of the night and already fireworks have gone off left and right!

Bryan: This raucous Anaheim crowd has certainly been patient, eagerly awaiting the first contest of the night--

'Ghost Town' by Shiny Toy Guns cuts James Bryan off as the fans collectively jolt up from their seats as they wait for the arrival of their hero. Clyde Fox emerges from the back, cape and all. The fans erupt as Clyde hops around with a big smile pasted on his face.

Andrews: Making his way to the ring, from Ottawa, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at 190 pounds... CLYDE FOX!

Bryan: And look no further! It’s the man who wrestled in the last GCW match...

Yale: I have to give it up to him, JB! Clyde Fox came within inches of becoming the new Heavyweight Champion.

Fox throws his arms out in front and pretends to fly down to the ring. He promptly slides into the ring where he proceeds to climb the nearest turnbuckle and wave to all his friends.

Bryan: And what better way is there to kick off WorldWide than with Clyde Fox in action?

Yale: He finished Rampage on a low note, so we should most certainly be expecting him to hit a home run here tonight.

Fox unties his cape from around his neck and walks over and politely trades it for Joey Andrews’ microphone.

Bryan: And it looks like The Prince of The Playroom has a few pre match thoughts he’d like to share with the lovely people of California.

The crowd continues to pour out its support as Clyde Fox raises the microphone to his lips. But before he can say anything, the crowd gets louder. He lowers the microphone.

RAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

Bryan: Listen to this response!

Yale: They won’t even let him speak! We could be here all night, JB!

Fox tries it again and raises the microphone back up to his mouth. They get even louder! Dazzled by the response, Fox has no choice but to hold back his emotions.

Yale: He’s going to cry, JB!

Bryan: And it looks like the fans are picking up where they left off the last time Fox was in the ring; giving him a standing ovation!

FOX! FOX! FOX! FOX! FOX! FOX! FOX! FOX!

Yale: Shut up, people!

Not that David’s plea was being adhered too but the crowd finally dies down. Clyde raises the microphone up to his lips and begins conveying his feelings.

Fox: Heto...

Fox pulls the microphone back down.

Bryan: Is it just me, or does Clyde seem rather somber right now?

Fox: Heto everyone. The very, very, very, very, very, very first thing I want to do before I say anything else is this: I WOST!

Unsure how to react; the crowd remains silent.

Fox: I wost plain and simple, fair and square. I wost to Tessie Wessie and you know what? I’m just otay with that!

Clyde smiles as some applaud him.

Fox: The second thing I have to say is: congwatulations! Congwats to Tessie Wessie! Not only are you The GCW Champion, but also you are the Champion of our hearts!

The fans whistle and cheer at the show of sportsmanship.

Bryan: Who knew Clyde could be so poetic?

Yale: He’s just starving for attention, that’s all, JB.

Fox: Do all you people know why I’m otay with it? I’ll tell you why. Because I know, deep down, in the deepest deep of me that I will fight for it again. And next time, I won’t be access denied!

RAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

Fox: This is my pwedge! I pwedge to you, the American people, that I, Clyde Evan Fox, will use all my superpowers in the world to get back there!

RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

Bryan: Sounds like he’s got them feeding out of his hands, Dave.

Fox: It doesn’t matter who I have to go through. Kiss Bagel, Tim Battle Shipley, Jay Tearor, or even The Murrman! Y’all on notice! Just let’s say that each one of you have a toy of mine... AND I’M COMING TO COWWECT... BIG TIME!

Fox gives the microphone back to Joey Andrews as the crowd supports Fox’s comments with a bundle of cheers.

Bryan: Wow! To be honest, I wasn’t expecting Clyde to come out and spit fireballs like that!

Yale: He must have inhaled a fire flower backstage or something! Not too bad at all. It gave me goose bumps! That never happens with a Clyde Fox speech!

Those cheers turn to boos though as darkness consumes the arena. A telling song begins to play: "Welcome Home (Sanitarium)" by Metallica. As the opening chords play through, the sickening, twisted, chilling sound of a laugh that can only belong to one man reverberates throughout the arena. Various strobe lights and spotlights throughout the arena shine and blink around the crowd in many shades of red, blue and white. The crowd's anticipation builds as the opening instrumental of the song begins to wind down.

Andrews: Making his way to the ring, from Albuquerque, New Mexico, weighing it at 213 pounds... DAVID SPENCER!

Bryan: And here comes one bad dude, capable of spoiling just about any party.

Yale: Well Fox better get his head on straight because it’s one thing to talk and it’s another to actually back it up in the ring. David Spencer will test every aspect of that here tonight.

As soon as the lyrics kick in, the spotlights and strobe lights invert in colour, making wherever they shine look strangely inverted as well. At this time, David comes out from the back, a lighter in his hand that he constantly flicks on and off. He stops center stage and crouches down, his arms up on his knees, which are nearly at the height of his head in this position. He surveys the crowd, whoever he sees flinching at the sight of his masked face. After a few moments of simply surveying the crowd, David gets up and starts walking down the entrance ramp, towards the ring, continuing to flick his lighter on and off like clockwork. Every once and a while he suddenly stops in his place and turns to face a particular nearby fan, his blank - almost dead - expression not reassuring in the slightest to whomever he faces.

Bryan: Spencer was eliminated from Rampage contention in the Semi Finals by Tim "Battle" Shipley if you will. The eventual Rampage Tournament winner.

Yale: One has to wonder just how big of a chip Spencer has on his shoulder and if maybe Clyde is still feeling the effects of Rampage. Don’t forget, Fox wrestled in the last match we had and he’s thrown right back in the fire here tonight.

The song begins to slowly die out as David reaches the ring. He stalks along the ropes, staring down at his feet and not really paying attention to the inside of the ring or showing any intent on entering it. However, he soon has a change of heart, it seems, as he suddenly lifts the top rope and swings under in, snapping to attention once inside. The song dies out completely. The lights come back on. David tosses his lighter to the ref and surveys the crowd one last time.

Bryan: And here we go!

DING! DING! DING!

Clyde doesn’t hesitate one bit as he initiates the fight. Spencer ties up with Fox and overpowers him into the corner. Once there, Fox stays on the receiving end of multiple blows! Clyde finally manages to duck a shot, barrel roll out of the corner and fly off his feet with a drop kick!

Bryan: And the fans just love how spry Clyde Fox is!

Yale: He’s so damn slippery, JB! He’s hard to get your hands on but if you’re able to, you can slow him down with ease.

Keeping to that exact game plan, David Spencer doesn’t leave the confines of the corner. Instead, he plays it safe and waits for Clyde to bring the fight to him. Fox comes charging into the narrow corner and just before he can make contact, Spencer sidesteps out of the way! Fox nails his chest against the turnbuckle as the fans in the front row feel the impact. Spencer follows it up with a back body drop in the center of the ring!

Bryan: And Clyde might just be a little overzealous here in the early going!

Yale: You think he’d be warm though, JB. He wrestled just a few short days ago in that hellacious World Title cage match.

Bryan: He looks a little more fatigued than anything, Dave.

Clyde wraps his hands around his head in pain as Spencer comes running off the ropes with an elbow drop! He connects and then floats over for the pin.

...1!

...2!

...KICKOUT!

RAAAAHHHHH!

The fans applaud as Clyde shoves half of his body off the canvas. Spencer pulls Fox up but he doesn’t go quietly as he shoves his foe away. Spencer misses with a clothesline and is met with a deadly neck breaker! Now Spencer is the one who is grabbing the back of his head as Clyde springboards off the middle rope!

BUNNY SAULT!

Bryan: He nailed it! Clyde Fox just hit the Bunny Sault!

...1!

...2!

...KICKOUT!

Yale: Not even close! By the time Hal Jenkins’ hand reached up for the second time, David Spencer was already kicking out!

Clyde needed that breather though, as he looks to seize control of the match. Clyde begins to push himself up off the mat but before he can completely rise to his feet, David Spencer entangles him!

Bryan: Look at this!

Spencer locks in an STF as the crowd is shocked at how quickly the momentum has swung back and forth and back again. Clyde claws at Spencer’s rock hard grip but can’t even get it to budge.

Yale: He’s got him in an STF! Clyde’s guard has been down all match! It’s no wonder how easily David locked that in!

But Clyde is one clever cat and he shows his brilliance by rolling on top of Spencer, forcing his shoulders to the mat!

...1!

...2!

...And Spencer releases the hold before the third count is registered.

Bryan: Smart tactics right there, reversing the effects of Spencer’s own submission move against him.

Yale: Clyde will certainly get himself into many predicaments, but I’m always amazed at how he is seemingly able to get out of each and every one of them.

Bryan: You have to give him credit for that, Dave.

Yale: I thought I just was...

Bryan: And that’s why Clyde has ascended to the level that he’s at now. He’s pushing everyone he competes with to the limit. And that right there was a perfect example.

Shocked that his STF was broken up with such ease, Spencer tries to turn his attention back to Clyde but... but he’s gone!?

Yale: Where did Clyde go?

Bryan: Up top!

David Spencer looks all around him but hasn’t noticed that Clyde has already made his way up to the top rope! Finally on his feet, Spencer spins around and finds his target.

Fox: AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

FOX 40!

Bryan: The Fox 40! Clyde Fox’s signature banshee scream in full force here tonight!

Yale: Dear lord that’s loud! I thought he quit doing that stupid move long ago... I guess I was wrong!

Spencer has no choice but to cover his ears as the loud, prepubescent shrieking melts his eardrums. Fox finally shuts his mouth much to the delight of the front row. He then uses the small window of opportunity to fly off the turnbuckle like a superhero and land a scissors kick! Spencer bounces off the mat like a medicine ball on a trampoline as the fans (who can hear) cheer.

Bryan: Big move there by Clyde Fox! He just nailed him with that top rope scissors kick!

Yale: They really have to ban that banshee scream though, JB. I mean really, he only got that opening because he screamed like a girl.

Fox jumps right back into a ready position, constantly measuring David Spencer. Fans start to rise from their seats as they can feel what’s coming next!

Bryan: Uh-oh! This does not look good for David Spencer! He might be better off not getting off the canvas!

Yale: Clyde’s got him right where he wants him!

The crowd continues to get louder and louder until David Spencer is finally up on his feet. He turns his groggy body around just in time to get kicked in the midsection by Clyde and pulled into a pump handle!

Bryan: This is it!

The fans collectively raise their arms as Clyde executes his finishing maneuver on David Spencer!

INTO THE FOXHOLE!

Yale: He nailed it!

Bryan: That’s gotta be it!

...1!

...2!

...3!

RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

DING! DING! DING!

Bryan: It’s over! Clyde Fox is defiant over David Spencer in an energetic opening match here on WorldWide!

‘Ghost Town’ by Shiny Toy Guns rings throughout the arena as the California fans cheer loudly for their hero.

Andrews: Here is your winner; CLYYYYYYYDE FOX!

Hal Jenkins raises Clyde’s hand high in the air for everyone to see.

Bryan: Fox is definitely in some sort of a groove, Dave! Don’t you think?

Yale: Well you have to give me the credit he deserves, JB. Not only did he come within inches of winning the GCW World Title at Rampage, but also he just showed the entire roster, the entire world that he’s not to be taken lightly. I can’t believe I’m going to say this but; Clyde Fox is showing just how tough he is right now.

Bryan: Agreed! Clyde picks up an impressive win over David Spencer, as things only look to intensify with Dangerous Games on the horizon.

Clyde quickly exits the ring, grabs a cooler from under it and slides back in to bask with his friends. He opens the cooler and pulls out some milkshakes! The fans go nuts as he shakes them up something fierce, climbs to the middle turnbuckle and starts chugging them back, sending glorious milk splashing everywhere!

Bryan: And would you look at that! Clyde’s chugging milkshakes!

Yale: Well he better not even attempt the beer... he’d be done after one. So I guess milkshakes are okay.

Suddenly his theme song is replaced with ‘California Gurls’ by Katy Perry, which sends the arena into an even bigger frenzy!

Yale: Now he’s gone too far...

Bryan: Haha! Would you look at that! Clyde Fox is indeed living large! Milkshakes, victories, main events and tons of fan fare... it’s indeed never been a better time to be Clyde Fox! And he loves every moment of it! Folks, we’ll be right back after these messages!

The scene fades as the fans dance and cheer to Clyde guzzling back milkshake after milkshake.

Back to Top

The camera’s view starts out fuzzy and then clears as a familiar voice cuts in.

Ayake Sonoda: You’re sure you want me along, Tempest?

The camera focuses on the back of the aforementioned Tempest, jet black hair swaying and the tail end of the Television title belt trailing over her shoulder.

Tempest: Oh absolutely.

She looks over her shoulder with a bright smile and a wink.

Tempest: Us girls have to stick together after all.

Her giggle is lost as she turns her head and walks along. Just coming into view ahead is a head of bright red hair.

Tempest: Roxie!

The head turns and reveals Roxie Sykes, who looks surprised for a moment but recovers herself quickly.

Roxie: Tempest! Listen, I…

Tempest: Save it.

Tempest approaches and steps to within inches of Sykes, looking up at her very slightly, without her trademark smile.

Roxie: Oh, get over it. What did you think we were going to do, drink tea out of dainty little cups? I know you, Tempest, and I know well what’s underneath th---

But not well enough to see the belt coming. Tempest smashes the TV title into her face, unceremoniously bouncing her head off the wall. As she slumps to the floor, Tempest lays into her with a flurry of kicks and grabs her hair as a muffled squeal is picked up and Tempest growls into her face, spitting her words out in the now bleeding face of the woman she once befriended.

Tempest: Let me fill in what you don’t know, you moronic, faithless, two bit tramp! What you don’t know is that having your face crammed into this belt is as close as you’ll ever get to a title, or to the respect and acclaim you said you wanted a chance at because now everyone, including me, sees you for what you are!

Emphasizing the point with another slap of the belt Tempest drags Sykes to her feet and begins leading her along the hall, locked firmly in a half nelson. The camera follows, jogging, Ayake apparently walking backward.

Tempest: You said you wanted a chance and you got one, more than one! You didn’t want to water plants and be shrugged off and I told anyone that would listen that you shouldn’t be! But I was wrong.

Tempest stops at a door labeled "Men" and kicks open the door. A few startled patrons of the arena look up from their business in shock as the two women enter and scatter.

Tempest: Ladies, if you don’t like the changing view, then take a leak somewhere else!

And they do just that, zipping up and bailing with remarkable speed and more than a little amusement.

Tempest: You said you wanted to be more than Tim Shipley’s assistant, you wanted to make a name for yourself, and that was your idea of how to do it? To come out and cost me the match of my career all for a man who’s using you for a cum bucket?

Her voice has risen to a shout and she slams Roxie’s head forward again, this time into the porcelain of the urinal. Her eyes wide and ferocious, Tempest grabs Roxie by the hair with both hands and rams her forward into the urinal over and over again, dropping her face into the water and holding her for a moment there before releasing her, gasping and spluttering.

Tempest: You are exactly what you said you didn’t want to be! You’re fit for making coffee, watering plants and staying the hell out of real wrestler’s way. So, to that end…

Having rendered Roxie near motionless, Tempest yanks a pair of handcuffs out of her jacket pocket and slaps one around her wrist. This gets Roxie’s attention, even in her daze and she starts to struggle, but Tempest is behind her and slams her forward long enough to clamp the other end around the pipe over the urinal.

Tempest: You can just stay here and do what you’re best at.

She grasps a handful of Roxie’s hair and leans close to her face, close enough to whisper in her ear, and speaks softly as Ayake leans the camera closer.

Tempest: Just know this – What you threw away at Rampage, you’ll never recover. I will never grant you a match. You don’t deserve it. And if you ever involve yourself in my business again, this little adventure will seem like a picnic. Be sure and tell that to Shipley and that I’ll be coming for him soon enough.

Tempest stands and starts to turn away. She chuckles slightly.

Tempest: That’s if he actually cares enough to come and get you. In the meantime, you can suck on this.

Tempest removes a lollipop from her pocket and tosses it toward Roxie. She also removes the keys to the handcuffs. Turning toward the toilet stalls, she walks into one and a small ‘plink’ is heard followed by a flush. Tempest emerges smiling and stalks to the door without turning back.

Ayake: Where those the keys? God, Tempest…

Yale: What the hell?! Tempest has absolutely gone nuts!

Bryan: Consequences Dave. Wasn’t that what you were fond of saying whenever Christian Zenith avenged whatever petty insult he imagined on her? Well, Tempest at least has a very real insult in the form of Roxie Sykes’ interference in the final at Rampage.

Back to Top

Bryan: Let's go backstage, where our very own Barry Goldstein is standing by with Triumph Frost, our...ugh...new Hardcore champion.

In the swanky little interviewin' area backstage, a primped-up Barry Goldstein stands in his drab gray stitched cloth he calls a suit next to Triumph Frost, who gets a lion's share of hatred from the crowd. Wearing Rock and Republic jeans, white Nike custom Air Force Ones, and the Hardcore title draped over his shoulder and across his white t-shirt adorning the album cover to Ol' Dirty Bastard's "Return to the 36 Chambers - The Dirty Version", he has an overall look of disinterest, while Alexis Frost beams like a light from outer space in a white Dolce dress.

Goldstein begins the process.

Barry Goldstein: I'm here with the brand new Hardcore champion Triumph Frost, who beat Bryan Mayhem at Rampage just barely two weeks ago. Mr. Frost, what kind of accomplishment do you feel that this is?

Triumph just continues to stare off into the distance, as Goldstein awaits a response that isn't coming. Alexis cuts in front of Triumph and sidles up next to Goldstein.

Alexis Frost: It's meant a lot, you know? I mean, a championship this fast? How awesome is that, huh? Am I right?

Barry Goldstein: Umm...I guess so.

Alexis Frost: You don't have to guess, Barry. This totally rocks. It's like so cool, and to do it against a guy like Mayhem? I mean...

Triumph drowns out the noise, as he looks down at the Hardcore title.

That title. The damn tag title with the word "hardcore" drawn on it, like some retarded kid with a Sharpie after eating pixie stix for two goddamned hours. That title, the stupid damn title that nobody in their right mind could want. What a waste, all this time. What are we even doing--

Alexis Frost: HEY!!!

Alexis continually snaps her fingers in Triumph's face, as he breaks free from the hold. He rubs his eyes, and surveys the two, who seem to be awaiting him to say something.

Triumph Frost: What?

Barry Goldstein: I asked if you fear that you might be a target, now that you're the champion?

Triumph yawns rather audibly before Barry can finish, bringing his fist to his mouth to quell the mysterious event. He lets out a sigh.

Triumph Frost: I dunno. I haven't really been thinking about it that much. What with the tapes getting released daily and all that. I really thought the guy was okay in my book, I dig the stuff he does, and that chick's kinda a drag. She sounds like she just yaps all fuckin' day. I'd have probably broken her teeth, too, to be perfectly honest with you.

Alexis displays frustration, while good ol' lovable oaf Goldstein remains mired in confusion. That is, until Goldstein yelps and turns pale. Triumph takes a step back.

Triumph Frost: Hey, asshole! Don't you dare be gettin' sick now, bitch.

Bryan Mayhem: He already is.

Mayhem's voice booms loudly, as Triumph slowly turns around to see the Lunatic himself. Alexis clutches Triumph's arm closely, while Goldstein beats feet and runs as fast as his drumsticks'll take him.

Triumph maintains his cool, but not Mayhem's attention, who's instead giving Alexis the creepiest look in the history of the world.

Triumph Frost: Yo, fuckhead, eyes over here.

Mayhem eyes dart to Triumph just as fast, as Mayhem's all business.

Bryan Mayhem: I want MY title back. Tonight!

Triumph smirks.

Triumph Frost: Hmm...

He scratches his forehead, as if mired in thought. He stops.

Triumph Frost: No.

Triumph taps the belt twice and looks at it, rolling his eyes afterward and shaking his head. He regains his composure just as fast.

Triumph Frost: I've got this piece of shit thing now. Hell, do you even know how easy it was to get it? You wouldn't believe me if I told you. And the funny thing about all of this?

Triumph drops the belt off his shoulder, as it clangs to the ground.

Triumph Frost: I don't even really want the fuckin' thing.

Mayhem's nostrils flare up. His chest heaves in and out as he attempts to calm himself from tearing this little puke’s head off.

Triumph Frost: But I know you do. Just as I know that this goddamned thing...

Frost positions his foot under his belt and kicks it in the air, grabbing it as it rises up as if it were some cheap skateboard. He holds it up, in Mayhem's face.

Triumph Frost: You built everything it stands for. And I?

He throws the belt back over his shoulder.

Triumph Frost: I plan to tear every single thing you built about this thing asunder, brick by motherfuckin' brick.

Triumph pauses, to take in the flavor of the moment. Mayhem fumes so much that steam nearly pours from his ears. He clenches his fists.

Triumph Frost: So why don't you go find out how fuckin' magnets work, and get outta my goddamned face?

Mayhem gets right into Triumph's personal space.

Bryan Mayhem: Kid, I haven been through wars while you were still shitting your pants. I have ended the careers of some of the greatest to ever step foot into this ring. You would be a fool to piss me off because I can and will snap your fucking neck. There’s a thing called Honor. Honor those that can end you.

Triumph sneers at the word.

Triumph Frost: Honor? Honor's so you can sign autographs for the fat shitheads with dreams of grandeur. Honor's so you can sell T-shirts with your ugly-ass mug painted across 'em. Honor's so you can take a look back at your life, in your twilight years, staring into the eyes of that rat-faced bitch you call a wife and the mutts you bred and try to convince yourself that your old man shouldn't have wasted his seed into a napkin instead of your old lady's belly.

Triumph taps Mayhem's chest.

Triumph Frost: And I'm just an honorless, soul-stealin', girlfriend-fuckin' son of a bastard bad-ass motherfucker!

Triumph pulls a pair of sunglasses from seemingly nowhere, and puts them on.

Triumph Frost: Now, I've got better things to do, like nothin' at all.

Triumph grabs Alexis' hand and struts her away. Mayhem watches them leave intently, his gaze never breaking stride. After a few steps...

Triumph Frost: Hey, is he still lookin' at us?

Alexis tilts her head to the side, as Mayhem now slowly stalks towards them. She turns her head forward.

Alexis Frost: Aaaaand now he's following us.

Triumph Frost: Let's get it movin' then, woman, for Christ's sake!

Triumph and Alexis pick up the pace and scurry off, as Mayhem remains hot on their trail.

Bryan: It looks like Bryan Mayhem will not take "no" for an answer from our new Hardcore champ.

Yale: You know what they say. No means yes!

Bryan: Who says that?

Yale: Umm...no one. Forget I said anything.

Bryan: Regardless, sooner or later, Triumph Frost's destiny has Bryan Mayhem waiting in it's path.

Back to Top

There’s a bang, a boom, and plenty of chaos going on backstage. The MegaTron flashes to life, showing the Anaheim crowd just what is going on back there. Staff is having to flee out of the way as a golf cart comes crashing into view, apparently being driven by Chris Storm. Beside him is Johnny the Kid, his protégé and in the back seat is Rikki Roxx and a cardboard cutout of Markus Stone. Johnny keeps looking over his shoulder at the cardboard cutout. Chris finally notices and looks over at Johnny.

Storm: What?

Johnny: It’s starin’ at me.

Storm: So?

Johnny: Kinda creepin’ me out.

Chris looks back at the cutout.

Storm: It was promotional work for Christmas Chaos. Turns out Caldera has a whole mess of these in his basement.

Johnny: A, what are you doing in his basement? And B, it’s really freakin’ creepy.

Storm: I plead the fifth AND…

He reaches behind him, releasing the wheel as he does. Johnny the Kid quickly has to grab hold to keep the cart from spinning out of control. Chris, meanwhile has tossed the cutout off the cart and replaced it.

Storm: Better?

Johnny looks over his shoulder at the new cutout.

Johnny: Slightly less child-molesting, but why do you have multiple cardboard cutouts of Markus Stone?

Storm: Again, I plead the fifth.

Johnny: And why is it in the back?

Storm: You’d rather it ride shotgun?

Johnny: No, I just mean why is it riding with us at all?

Storm: Cause we need a fourth! You can’t expect Rikki to ride third alone can you? You need a fourth. It’s like a man-rule or something. I don’t make these things up.

He’s totally making this up by the way.

Johnny: Whatever I guess.

Storm: That’s the spirit!

Roxx: ALLLLRRRIIIIGGGGHHTTTT!

The three of them (plus their cardboard cutout) turn the corner and find Barry Goldstein waiting with microphone in hand. Spotting Chris, he instantly hurries toward them to try and get a scoop.

Goldstein: Chris! Chris, can I get a word or possibly interest you in a magazine subscription!

Storm: Gah damn it Barry, I said I don’t want no stinking magazines!

Goldstein: Then how about a comment on the rumors that you went to Russia after Rampage to interview for a position with a rival promotion!

Storm: No comment!

He’s screaming because he’s also driving the golf cart right by Barry, unloading a pumped up water gun right into him. Johnny overhands a water balloon right into Barry’s chest, knocking the poor man back a step. They disappear down the hall as Barry is left trying to find a towel to dry himself off.

Johnny: Hey, guys, all this water is making me have to use the bathroom. Can we pull over?

Roxx: Gah! Didn’t your mother tell you to go before we got in the cart?

Chris rolls his eyes, but pulls over at the nearest restroom. Johnny jumps off the golf cart and bolts into the restroom. Swinging the door open, he damn near already has his pants halfway down his ankles. He saddles up in front of a urinal. He looks to his left.

Johnny: The fuc---??

In the next urinal over is Roxie, still handcuffed to the urinal. She notices Johnny and starts violently kicking.

Roxie: HELP!

Now Johnny, he’s a good kid. He would like to help her out. But he’s freaking. He’s freaking bad. So instead of helping her, he bolts it from the bathroom even with his pants still around his ankles. He jumps right into the golf cart, finally having the sense to pull up his drawers.

Storm: Dude? The hell? Ok, some mentoring shit real quick. When on a national television show for a major promotion that is live; keep your damn pants up!

Johnny the Kid needs to take a deep breath before answering.

Johnny: A woman! Handcuffed! To a urinal!

Storm: Huh?

Johnny: is that normal around here?

Chris cocks his head to the side and looks at the bathroom door.

Storm: A woman’s in there handcuffed to a urinal?

Roxx: THIS LOOKS LIKE A JOB FOR THE MAESTRO OF METAL!

Storm: SIT DOWN RIKKI!

Chris quickly drives off in the cart, shaking his head.

Storm: Can you believe them, Markus?

Cardboard Cutout of Stone: ….

Storm: I know, bunch of crazies.

Continuing down the hall, Chris grabs another water balloon and smashes an unsuspecting staff member.

Bryan: Look at those idiots backstage!

Yale: I think Chris is handling Tessa winning the World title in his own special ways.

Bryan: They are only doing this because they know Garbage Bag Johnny is out on vacation this week.

Yale: Whatever the case, I have a feeling we haven’t seen the same of them.

And they haven’t. Mwhahahahahahaha. Or some shit.

Back to Top

There's fire in his eyes, the kind that can't be tamed by buckets of water nor the skilled hands of Anaheim's finest. Beyond that, his path is set and he meanders through the halls at an erratic pace. He navigates a corner, then a second, and finally comes upon the hallway he had in mind. It houses Rikki Roxx, Chris Storm, Clyde Fox, and at the very end of them all stands one door labeled on a fine golden plate simply as "Tessa Windsor". He marvels the plate, grabs the knob and turns it open thinking nothing of the woman waiting inside.

As he enters, he finds her at first glance. Tessa Windsor sits on the couch, title on the arm rest, and she takes a hard look at him. He takes a hard look at the belt. Tessa stands from the couch, glancing over Jay’s way, unsure of what to make of his moment with the title.

Windsor: There something I can help you with?

She yanks the belt from his eyes view and slings it over her shoulder. Terror's heart, or what's left of it, seems to sink seeing the picture before him. His mouth falls open for a moment before he can collect himself.

Jay Terror: Feel good to finally be noticed?

She smirks. He already knew the answer he’d get.

Windsor: Do you really need to ask? I’m sure you of all people know that answer.

She places the back down on the chair before glancing back Terror’s way.

Windsor: I’ve got to say though; you put up one hell of a fight. I’m glad Clyde changed his mind about who he wanted to square off against. I can’t imagine I would have gotten as much of a fight from Chris.

Jay tries to smirk but every bone in his body is against it. His eyes are still burning, his soul still injured. He shakes his head slightly.

Jay Terror: I'm not here to pass the time, Tessa. I'm here to get things straight. You can hold onto that title and cash it in for some pops along the tour, but I'm going to take it away from you at some point.

He straightens up, loses his self-disgust, and focuses on her completely.

Jay Terror: It's my title at the end of the day and I need you to know it.

Even with Terror glaring back her way, Tessa scoffs. She cannot believe the words coming from the mouth of one of her biggest nemesis after she had just beaten him for what seemed like the umpteenth time at Rampage.

Windsor: Yours? Funny you should say that. Because Tim Shipley seemed to be convinced of the same earlier on this evening. Oddly enough, look whose room it’s in. Better yet, go re-watch Rampage. I know you were a bit out of it and all, but I’m pretty sure even you would remember beating me. In fact, if that were the case, you wouldn’t be here in the first place, would you?

Jay Terror: Trust me, I can see where the belt's at. Fact is, I still have a title shot that I grabbed last year from winning Dangerous Games. I don't care what Shipley just did; I know he doesn't get anything before I do. I'll prove that later tonight. What I need you to know, and the rest of the world at that, is that things aren't over between us. We may have settled a few battles, exchanged a few words, but things are different when the title's in the picture. That's all I have, all I want, and I'm not going to stop until it's over my shoulder again.

She glares right back his way, not the least bit intimidated.

Windsor: I sincerely hope you don’t waste that one shot you have then, because time has told over and over again which one of us is the better. You’re far better off waiting. Or maybe you can exchange it for a shot at Vivica and the US title. I mean it’s not that horrible being just second best, is it?

He's completely derailed by the statement.

Jay Terror: Second best? You don't understand who I am then, Tessa. My track record may be below five-hundred with you, but that doesn't make me the inferior wrestler between us. You know what I've done so I'll save you the time. The fact of the matter is, fighting you one on one for that title belt is the one thing our war has needed. We've fought for pride, respect, and a chance to prove ourselves, but we've never had the opportunity to battle without the extra people and the extra things. Not for the world title. Not for my world title.

He squints his eyes as if to cast the inferno onto her.

Jay Terror: Second best? You're out of your mind.

The smirk on her face tells it all. She seems to love driving Terror up a wall.

Windsor: You’re right. You’re probably more along the lines of third or fourth best these days. I apologize for the confusion. I probably celebrated just a bit more than I should have last night. You know how exciting it is, being champion and all…

Terror finally smirks, though his intentions aren't worthy of praise.

Jay Terror: Like I said, use that belt for any self-esteem issues you have. It's a good pick-me-up when you're having a bad day. Unfortunately, you're not going to bring me down with shots like that. I know better than to bite on your jabs. I came here because I thought a warning was warranted and I've done just that.

She waves him off, plopping back down into her seat.

Windsor: Does that mean you’re finally leaving? Because I’ve got much better things to do with my time than sit here and listen to your banter.

Terror takes a long look at the title again before turning his back and heading to the door. He stops though, in typical Terror-fashion, and lets his words be the last.

Jay Terror: By the way, I'll be sure to finish the job next time. With the knee that is. Now back to your celebration.

He leaves before an answer comes his way leaving Tessa and her title together.

Bryan: Well talk about a war that refuses to die. These two have been battling for nearly two years now and it's still only reaching the climax.

Yale: Now that Tessa has the gold, Jay Terror wants to defeat her more than ever. Tonight, I think that he made his intentions loud and clear.

Bryan: But you have to give it up to Tessa Windsor. She seems to have found a new confidence with that title belt and truly stood her ground against him.

Yale: Things are bound to get interesting with Jay's title shot so we'll have to wait and see when he decides to use it.

Back to Top

Bryan: Is it just me, Dave, or is Rasa looking even creepier than normal tonight?

Yale: It should be banned. Seriously. There are children here, JB. Children!

Rasa is perched upon the top turnbuckle, perfectly still. It waits, unmoved by the welling reaction from the crowd. Its mask lacks any of the usual design or decoration, instead being featureless black, while eyes are hidden behind a visor; the look is more fascist than ornate.

Andrews: Introducing first; RASA!

Bryan: It was a disappointing Rampage for Rasa, you’d have to say. Defeated by Tempest in the semi-final, and then having to watch as she and Tim Shipley put on what some are calling a match of the year candidate in the final.

Yale: It had slipped my mind that Rasa was even at the PPV, JB. That’s because nobody remembers losers. Tim Shipley is the 2010 Rampage tournament winner, and the rest of the field became irrelevant the millisecond that bell rang.

Bryan: While I’m hesitant to agree with that statement, I’ll admit that Tim Shipley has now climbed head and shoulders above his peers as far as the hottest newcomer of 2010 goes. But there are still over 5 months of the year to go, and Rasa now has the chance to rebuild his momentum against the Tribal War Machine.

Yale: You don’t build momentum against an associate of Christian Zenith; he simply doesn’t allow it.

The opening chords of W.A.S.P's 'Charisma' echo across the arena, resulting in a noticeable increase in the volume as the crowd show their hostility for the two men about to emerge from behind the curtain. SurReal strides out from the back, stopping at the top of the ramp gearing himself up for the contest ahead with his head bowed. With his mind focused entirely on the match ahead he pays no heed to the jeers coming at him from all directions. Behind him dressed in only the most expensive black Armani suit complete with custom Gucci sunglasses stands the Leader of Men; Christian Zenith.

Andrews: And its opponent - accompanied by CHRISTIAN ZENITH - he weighs in at two hundred forty pounds, from Belfast, Northern Ireland... he is The Tribal War Machine... SUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRREALLLLL!

Bryan: Here comes trouble.

Yale: If Rasa throught Rampage was bad, wait until the bell rings and he’s left face-to-mask with one of the most lethal technicians in the business, backed up by a man with more power at his fingertips than most world leaders.

As his name rings out from the sound system, the Irishman throws his arms up cueing a series of pyrotechnics to explode upwards with a flaming effect either side of him, the crowd's reaction rises in hostility at this posturing. As he slowly raises his head he fixes his eyes on his opponent, already formulating strategies aimed at walking away victorious. The cunning Zenith leans in to offer some last minute advice, the advice is met with a sly grin from SurReal as both men make their way towards the ring.

Yale: Knowing his history with our television champion, you’d have to think that Zenith will be urging his charge to take out Rasa both quicker - and in more dominating fashion - than Tempest. He’d love some more ammo to fire her way.

Bryan: I don’t think for one second that Zenith troubles himself by even acknowledging such insignificant little pests.

Stopping as he reaches the ring-steps, SurReal loosens his body up before ascending the steps and walking along the apron to the far turnbuckle. He climbs to the middle rope before thrusting his arms out in his trademark crucifix pose which sparks another burst of jeering from the crowd. He throws a quick glance to Zenith with a nod before he vaults the ropes into the ring and rolls his neck back and forth whilst cracking his knuckles; it's game time and all other thoughts are quickly dispelled as he focuses in on the task in hand as Rasa drops down from the top turnbuckle opposite.

Bryan: Fellows is, quite wisely, warning Zenith to keep his influence on this match to verbal encouragement as he gets us under way.

As the bell rings, there’s a sudden, expectant pause. The crowd is hushed, the announcers draw breath, and the participants lock eyes. Then, it begins. SurReal and Rasa meet in the middle of the ring, a collar-and-elbow tie-up entwining them. Struggling to hold its ground against the Tribal War Machine, Rasa gambles on landing a kick to the Irishman’s once-suspect right knee… but the gamble fails as SurReal bulldozes his off-balance opponent into the corner.

Before the Fellows can swoop in to lever them apart, SurReal unleashes a string of violent forearms upon his cornered opponent. Without the room to put any purchases behind its retaliatory blows, Rasa begins to crumble under the volley, a European uppercut almost decapitating the masked mystery. Finally, Fellows forces SurReal back towards the middle of the ring, leaving Christian Zenith to sneak in on his blindside.

Bryan: It hasn’t taken Christian Zenith long to get himself involved in this match. He knows how important a victory is to his charge.

Yale: He hasn’t done anything yet! Just more blatant victimization.

Bryan: Even you said ‘yet’.

Before Zenith can pounce on Rasa, David Fellows snaps his head around and warns him off. Zenith complies, albeit with a sarcastic raising his hands.

With SurReal’s focus having drifted to the official, Rasa bursts out of the corner and flings himself at the Tribal War Machine. A Tiger Crush smashes against the Irishman’s jaw, staggering him back into range for a whipping, spinning backfist that viciously snaps his head to the side. Collapsing back into the ropes, a groggy SurReal is bounces back at Rasa, who ensnares him in a Muay Thai clinch. To the delight of the crowd, the masked mystery drives his knee up into SurReal’s face, then again, then again, each crunching blow being met with barks of objection from Christian Zenith.

The third knee renders the Irishman’s legs gelatinous, and he crumples to his knees. A sickening spinning backheel kick from Rasa is then driven into his chest, sending the winded Irishman toppling onto his back. Seizing upon its wounded opponent, Rasa holds onto the top tope for balance as it hammers down stomp after stomp after stomp into SurReal’s torso.

Bryan: Listen to this crowd! Rasa may not have exerted a great deal of effort in endearing itself to the GCW fans, but if it keeps brutalizing members of their most-hated list like this, the-

Yale: Then it’ll be just another puppet of these fickle troglodytes.

Wisely, SurReal grabs onto the bottom rope, forcing a break from Fellows who receives a sarcastic round of applause from Zenith. Before Zenith can give his charge a pep talk, Rasa grabs a handful of hair… only for the Irishman to grab it by the mask, using it to toss his opponent out through the ropes.

Yale: Rasa should be more careful, JB. He nearly knocked Zenith over!

Bryan: This is where David Fellows needs an extra pair of eyes.

Yale: Why? SurReal doesn’t need to cheat to win. He’s one of the best wrestling technicians on the planet.

As SurReal protests with the official about Rasa gaining a questionable advantage from the ropes, Zenith stalks the downed Rasa, measuring him up deliberately for a stomp… but just as his foot begins to raise up off the mat, Fellows is ordering him away.

Yale: Since when did these officials actually become competent?

Unscathed, Rasa drags itself in under the bottom rope, only for SurReal to land a stomp on the small of its back. As Rasa continues to rise, another precise stomp lands, flattening it back out. Then again. And again. Defiant, Rasa again tries to drag itself up, only for the Tribal War Machine to pounce, heaving and hurling the masked mystery over with a gutwrench suplex. Keeping his hands locked, SurReal pulls Rasa up with the gutwrench and into another suplex, punishing his opponent’s ribs and spine.

Still keeping his hands locked around Rasa’s midriff, SurReal drives his knee into his opponent’s side, crushing the resistance out of it so that a third, textbook gutwrench suplex can be executed. As SurReal tightly hooks the legs of Rasa, Zenith forces his words into the referee’s ear, ordering him to make the count.

...1!

...2!

...KICKOUT!

Bryan: Once SurReal gets into a rhythm, he’s as dangerous as anyone in GCW. Technical dominance coupled with a mental toughness makes for a potent combination.

Yale: You’re only now realizing this? If it wasn’t for that meddlesome little goblin who walks about with the TV title, SurReal would probably be walking around with a belt in one hand and… well, whatever they gave Shipley for winning Rampage in the other.

Unfazed by Rasa kicking out, SurReal drops a trio of elbows into the small of its back, before grabbing two handfuls worth of mask to drag his opponent up. A forearm is driven into the small of Rasa’s back, then another, and a third, before it’s shoved into the turnbuckles. As Rasa bounces back towards him, the Tribal War Machine thrusts him up into a high-angle backdrop suplex, folding Rasa up on impact. A fierce kick to the spine then rolls Rasa through, folding out onto its front.

With Rasa rolling slowly onto its back, SurReal hooks its knees under his arms, stepping over and arching back to lock in the Easter Rising. Feeling a desperate Rasa struggle, the Tribal War Machine plants a knee in the small of his opponent’s back to amplify the strain placed on the masked mystery’s body.

Yale: This just goes to show how Rampage is all about the luck of the draw. SurReal, criminally eliminated in the first round, is about to snap a semi-finalist in half like a twig.

Rasa’s gloved hand reaches for the bottom rope, fingertips clawing for it. Shuffling closer, Christian Zenith goes to rest his forearms on the bottom rope just as Rasa’s index finger hooks it. David Fellows doesn’t hesitate in ordering Zenith back to his corner, despite the protests that he was simply leaning on the ropes to shout encouragement to his charge. Not looking too pleased about being forced to break the hold, SurReal takes it out on Rasa, nearly breaking it across his knee with a punishing pendulum backbreaker. Again, the Tribal War Machine hooks both legs.

...1!

...2!

...KICKOUT!

SurReal grapevines a defiant arm and again covers.

...1!

...2!

...KICKOUT!

Bryan: We’ve lauded the talents of SurReal, but Rasa is every bit as resilient as the Irishman is methodical.

Masking the frustration well, SurReal storms back to his feet, a suspicious eye locked on fellows. As Zenith urges him on, the Irishman drags a weary Rasa into a standing headscissors, then heaves him up for a piledriver. As Zenith motions for the cradle, SurReal grapevines the leg… only for Rasa to seize on the arm.

Bryan: Rasa has the triangle! He’s countered SurReal’s cradle piledriver mid-move!

Yale: No! No! No! Of all the moves he knows, all 9,861 of them, why did he have to go for one that gives Rasa his arm?!

Bryan: Blame Zenith, he called the move!

Yale: Then this is all a trap; Christian Zenith can do not wrong… or none that I’d ever call in public!

Locking the triangle in, Rasa slowly sits up on SurReal’s shoulders, ready to snap him over… only for the Tribal War Machine to charge at the corner, sandwiching the masked mystery between himself and the turnbuckles.

Bryan: Rasa holds on!

Refusing to break his hold, Rasa somehow keeps the hold applied as it’s crunched against the buckles. As SurReal collapses, he reaches out for the ropes, only for Rasa to launch into a death-roll, snapping him away from the cables.

Yale: This hold needs to be banned. It’s called a Triangle CHOKE, the clue is in the name! Someone get me the GCW rulebook, unless our beloved Commissioner has ripped out all the pages to roll joints with.

Despite the ferocity of Rasa’s death rolls, SurReal manages to anchor himself on his knees, giving him a base to fight the feared hold from. The Irishman drives himself up to his feet, just about able to keep his legs solid beneath him as his strength is sapped. With a mighty heave, the Tribal War Machine heaves Rasa up and swings him around… clubbing a startled David Fellows down to the canvas before Rasa snaps the Irishman over onto his back with a crude huricanrana.

Yale: You saw that! You saw that, right? Ring the bell! That masked freakshow just assaulted a GCW referee! Suspend him! No; fire him! Lifetime ban! BAN IT!

Bryan: Rasa has the triangle choke locked in tight on the canvas, it might be a race to see if Fellows wakes up before SurReal goes to sleep!

To the delight of the fans, Rasa once again launches from side to side with violent death rolls, shaking the life out of the Tribal War Machine. Determination ingrained into his vary soul, SurReal continues to fight the hold, struggling up to one knee.

Bryan: Even a warrior like SurReal must surel-… get him down from there! Get Christian Zenith down from there!

Yale: He’s just going to check that this isn’t an illegal choke!

To the fury of the crowd, Christian Zenith scrambles up the steps and into the ring, folded steel chair in hand. Expending the last fumes he’s stubbornly kept in the tank, the Tribal War Machine heaves Rasa up once again, breaking the anchoring grip around his ankle with the powerful burst.

Bryan: I thought you were saying that SurReal didn’t need to cheat to win, Dave? I thought you said that he could do it al-

Yale: Blah blah blah!

Before Rasa can snap SurReal back down to the canvas, the sneering Christian Zenith unleashes a furious swing of the steel chair… against the knee of the Tribal War Machine.

Bryan: What… just… happened?

Yale: Why did I not get copied in on this? Why am I left as much in the dark as this chump beside me? Who is doing research, here?!

The crowd gasp in shock as SurReal’s leg buckles queasily beneath him, twisting under the weight of not only himself, but Rasa, also. Feeling the last fight in SurReal vented, Rasa tightens the choke and rolls onto his knees, mounting his unconscious opponent and placing all of its weight on the hold.

Bryan: That was no mistake; not by a long shot. Christian Zenith has just turned on SurReal!

Yale: Just like I knew he would!

The crowd had taken a few seconds to absorb what just happened, and they’d decided - en masse - that they didn’t like it one little bit. A deafening onslaught of jeers rain down upon ringside as Zenith hops down to the floor, sliding his weapon under the ring apron.

David Fellows comes to, shaking the cobwebs loose, and is greeted by the sight of Rasa mounting a lifeless SurReal with the triangle choke. His count is mercifully quick.

...1!

...2!

...3!

As the bell chimes, a ringside cameraman zooms in on the face of Christian Zenith, showing the conceited smirk on every monitor in the arena.

Andrews: The winner of the match; RASA!

Bryan: I still don’t know what we’re seeing here, I’m afraid. Christian Zenith has just handed Rasa a win over SurReal, turning his back on the valiant Irishman who may have been within a split-second of breaking Rasa’s feared triangle choke.

Yale: If Christian Zenith is involved, what you’re seeing is what should be happening.

The crowd sustain their volume as the jeering continues to clog the arena microphones. With stalking steps, Christian Zenith enters the ring, relieving Andrews of his microphone. Always suspicious of Zenith, David Fellows tries to block his entry into the ring… only for the Leader of Men to shove the referee off and into a vicious Tiger Crush from Rasa which sends the limp official slithering out through the ropes and onto the mats below.

Zenith: I am going to say something to you SurReal that I do not say often. I have failed you as a leader.

A grimacing SurReal grabs his right knee, thought to be fully healed but now seemingly hanging from a frayed tendon. Despite the crippling agony, the Tribal War Machine rises to Zenith’s bait, struggling up on his left leg… only for Rasa to piledrive him back down into the canvas with a trio of savage Mongolian chops. With the Irishman wincing at his feet, Rasa looks up to Zenith, who simply nods, coldly. A brutal barrage of stomps is then unleashed on SurReal’s right knee, each impact convulsing his body.

Zenith: Perhaps I was blinded by my own ego, but I have failed to break your ignorant, stubborn ways to turn you into everything you could have been. I have finally realized that no amount of teaching or tutelage could make you reach your potential... because you are far too comfortable in being mediocre. You have no drive to better yourself. A man like myself has high expectations and expects far more from a protégé than you will ever be able to give me. You, SurReal, are a loser.

His blind fury is no anesthetic, but SurReal grinds his teeth and fights his own sense of self-preservation to once again rise to his feet. Like a gnashing dog, violently loyal to its master, Rasa pounces the second the Irishman staggers towards Zenith, hacking his right leg apart with a vicious sliding scissor-kick. Face contorting with sick delight, Christian Zenith urges Rasa on as the masked mystery traps SurReal’s arms in a butterfly lock and drills knee after knee into the Irishman’s head, each skull-shattering impact lessening the resistance until he’s left lifeless.

Zenith: A bottom-feeding parasite in the art of competitive fighting. A man who has all the tools but prefers to revel in his own laziness. The same virus of complacency that has infected all of these people and kept them from living up to their dreams and expectations lies inside your soul. After all, it was your inability to take simple directions that made me realize that I needed a ball of clay. I needed a faceless killer to mold into my own one-person wrecking crew. Someone who would not hesitate to do as I tell them. Someone who will not question my knowledge and will take my instructions to greatness. Someone... like RASA.

Jeers rain down from the heavens as Christian smirks.

Zenith: Get me a chair, Rasa. Lets kill off this infection.

Following its master’s commands, Rasa slips out under the bottom rope and retrieves the chair from under the ring, sliding it over to Christian.

Zenith: In Rasa's hands is the answer. The weapon I will use to rid my name of your virus, SurReal... and with your demise Rasa and I will rise to greatness where we belong. I will show you from your hospital bed everything that you could have been, if you were just smart enough to do as you were told.

As Zenith snaps the chair shut on SurReal’s knee, Rasa climbs to the top turnbuckle, where it had began the night. Beneath its fascist black mask, the expression on Rasa’s face would remain a mystery to all, but the crowd could read the thoughtful pause as it straightened itself up on the top turnbuckle.

Beneath Rasa was not just a man, but his health, and his livelihood… sandwiched between steel. It would have a say in if the Irishman five feet below would likely ever walk again unaided.

Zenith: What are you waiting for? Finish. Him. Now.

Yale: You heard him!

The crowd seize upon the faint glimmer of hope, collectively urging Rasa to defy the Leader of Men. Beneath him, a pulverized Tribal War Machine begins to stir, pain-wracked face staring down at the crude steel trap around his knee.

Zenith: One click of my fingers and I can have your true face flash up on every screen around ringside. Now, you do not want to disappoint your master, do you, little doggy? This whimpering man’s career or your identity; what will it be?

Bryan: No… don’t do it, Rasa. If you do this, it won’t matter whose face is behind that mask… it’ll be damned in GCW for as long as this promotion lives.

And with that, Rasa hurled itself off the top turnbuckle, stamping down on the chair around SurReal’s knee, prompting a chilling scream from the proud, Irish warrior. As the agonized wail filled its ears, Rasa could listen to it no longer, silencing him with a concussive field-goal kick.

Zenith: Good Rasa. Very good.

Finally, GCW officials and event security flood the scene, clearing a path for the EMTs to reach the maimed Tribal War Machine.

Bryan: Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve had few good things to say about SurReal in recent months, but I know him as a proud warrior. Now, thanks to that sneering piece of… thanks to the smirking, satanic Christian Zenith, I don’t know if I’ll ever get to call one of his matches again. That is a loss to the wrestling business, and an absolute disgrace.

Yale: Think of Christian Zenith as the Donald Trump of GCW. He gives unparalleled opportunities, but if you disappoint him, then you’re fired… or, removed from the promotion by whatever means he so chooses.

Bryan: Just fifteen minutes ago you were praising the man to high heaven! Now, as he’s being carried out on a stretcher with his leg hanging by a thread, you’re going to insult his career like that? SurReal was too good for that man, and we all knew it. And shame on Rasa for going along with it. I don’t care what Zenith has over it. Is keeping your identity secret worth a man’s livelihood? What Zenith and Rasa just did have no place in wrestling, and I only hope that the same happens to Rasa once Zenith is bored of his new little pet.

Yale: What happens, happens. Your job is to call the match, not judge. Christian Zenith was robbed of his rightful job as Commissioner of this promotion, and if the man who replaced him wants to step up, let him.

Back to Top

A young, over-dressed accountant stands nervously in the office, holding a folder and some loose paperwork close to his chest. Hair parted to the side, glasses fogging up, and a neck tie that looks a little too tight, he shifts his weight and definitely doesn't look at home. A ID card clipped to his lapel identifies him as "Paul Galizano."

Paul: I, uhm...I'm here from Corporate. I was told to speak with the, uh...the commissioner.

The camera zooms out and pans slightly, revealing Garbage Bag Murray sitting behind the commish's desk. He looks completely at home with a sincere smile on his face, but even sitting he towers over poor Paul Galizano.

GBM: Personally I prefer "Master of the Universe," or "Greatest Man Alive," but "commissioner" will suffice, I guess.

Paul: Oh. Well then, you might still be able to help me. I've been sent to ask Mister, uh-

GBM: Garbage Bag Johnny?

Paul: Yes. I was sent over to make an inquiry over some purchases that seemed a little...a little off.

GBM raises an eyebrow and Paul shifts his weight again and looks a tad more comfortable. Murray waits patiently while the accountant stands there, adjusts his glasses, and holds onto the paperwork for dear life.

GBM : Well maybe if you told me a thing or two about this weird purchase, I might be able to help you. The Boss can't just have random packages showing up all over the place, y'know.

Paul snaps back to reality and fumbles the bunch of folders onto the desk, then points to a couple of spots on a text-laden page that Murray examines briefly.

Paul: Well, as you see on this page, this page, and...and this page, there have been a couple of irksome purchases that are out of the ordinary. Now, over at Corporate we usually green-light these purchases without too much questioning. After all, you guys have to put on these shows so often, we don't like to bog down the commissioner's spending too much. But, see, these in particular are rather expensive and as you can see...right there, Mister, uh, Johnny--

GBM: That's me.

Paul (shiftily) Uhh, yes. Well, "you" have only signed his first name. 'Johnny.'

GBM nods his head in understanding, filling the silence with a confident look. Paul Galizano looks like he's waiting for a verbal response from the acting commish and gets a little antsy.

Paul: And, well...and that's not how we do things. We need a full name.

GBM: Obviously.

Paul: Especially if he's going to be signing a marching band for a performance and...where was the other big one...right there. That's three times the amount of fireworks that GCW has for a normal show. Again, we're not questioning it. We just need himyou to make sure you don't...

Paul looks to be straining to find the right word for 'get really wasted' and Andy helps him out.

GBM Indulge?

Paul: Indulge. Yes, we need to make sure you don't indulge before making purchases which may be unnecessary and which you might have noticed were a tad unneeded were you..

GBM: Sober.

Paul: Sober. Yes.

Andy picks up the pile of papers and folders and holds them up with a smile.

GBM: Well, dear boy, seeing as you have fortunately caught me during one of my sober moments, I will gladly help you out. Need anything else?

Paul: No. No, that should be all. Thank you very much, Mister Mur--

GBM: Johnny.

Paul Galizano stands nervously for a moment, looking like he wants to ask for his precious paperwork to be returned to him, but takes the more timid approach and simply turns and leaves. Garbage Bag Murray sits back down behind his mahogany desk and puts his feet up. Feeling the need for a little pre-match relaxation, GBM closes his eyes; but not before hitting "play" on a conveniently placed CD player. Hideous, HIDEOUS bagpipe music pours from the speakers as Murray closes his eyes. A smile creeps through his fake beard.

GBM: Bliss.

Knock, knock.

Yale: Uhh, I think there's someone at the door.

Murray remains oblivious. Falling into a bagpipe-induced trance, the stand-in commish is dead to the world.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Bryan: What a horrible din! I'm not surprised he can't hear a thing!

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Still hearing nothing but bagpipes, Andy yawns and stretches his arms over his head. It's then that the person on the other side of the door gets tired of waiting. A shadow appears as the door gets pushed open, and it paces quickly from the threshold to GBM's desk. Murray must feel the presence in front of him because one of his eyes slowly edges open, but when he realises there's somebody standing there? Dude damn near shits himself.

Growing up in Sykes household, young Jared learned a great many things about how to act around new people, especially when you're a guest in their home. It's why he isn't putting his feet on the furniture, or rooting through the refrigerator. It's also why he appears to be deep in concentration. Apparently Mama Sykes also bestowed upon him lessons of proper bagpipe etiquette.

Sykes: Jesus Christ, how do you listen to this?!

Or, you know, not.

Sykes: I don't mean to be rude, but can we turn this down? Or listen to something else more enjoyable? Like a Dusk promo, maybe? Please?

Gurning, Murray drops his feet from the desk and turns the music off.

GBM: Happy?

Sykes: Oh thank god. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound rude, but...

His voice trails off the closer he edges to the desk, until finally he simply cocks his head to the side, like a dog trying to understand a math problem. He shakes it off and extends a hand.

Sykes: So we haven't officially met yet. I'm Jared. From Sin City. You know, the place with like nine hundred redheads. Wanted to stop by and say hi before we got to the part of the night where you smash my head in. Not sure what to call ya'. You prefer Andy? Andrew? Mr. Murray if you're nasty?

Somewhere, Janet Jackson is crying.

Sykes: Sorry. I'm horrible at the introduction thing.

GBM: Evidently.

The acting Commissioner sits upright in his chair and straightens his tie.

GBM: Who is this "Andy" you speak of? Don't you recognise me: the notorious Garbage Bag Johnny? The Dirtiest Dude in GCW? The Commissioner? The Boss? El Jefe?

A Scottish eyebrow raises. A Black Sheep's face is confused.

GBM: No matter, sir. I assume it's Andy Murray you're looking for? I haven't seen him around much tonight, either. He gets real broody before he wrestles. Like, he'll lock himself in a closet with nothing more than a badger's head and a candle for company. Real trippy dude; I wouldn't bother him, if I were you.

Sykes: So, like, is it a stuffed badger's head? Like one of those plush things you find at the Discovery Channel story -- not that I go there, or anything -- or is this like a legit "used to be attached to a badger but isn't anymore because it's dead and now its head is in a closet" things?

Jared blinks twice, letting his gaze wander the room.

Sykes: What? It's a legitimate question.

GBM: No, it's not stuffed. It's a real severed badger's head, covered in blood and guts and gore and all kinds of nasty stuff. Maggots, too. And Acid. That's just the kind of psycho we're dealing with, man. You don't wanna go messing with a guy like that before his match. Trust me.

Sykes: But what's he doing with a badger's head in the first place? Some morbid fascination? Maybe a death fetish? Does he wear it on his hand and make it sing songs at a Vivica Valentine sock puppet? And you just know that there's some really weird shit going on with a guy who brings dead things into the closet. I mean, is it even a real closet, or are we working the metaphor pretty hardcore here?

Jared nods, grinning.

Sykes: Yeah, you know what's up.

GBM (mumbling): Oh bollocks.

Prickly heat creeps across Murray's brow: his cover's almost blown, and the Commish is getting uncomfortable.

GBM: He just likes dead shit. Skeletons, carcasses; all that good stuff. Y'know, because he's REALLY, REALLY INSANE AND YOU SHOULDN'T GO LOOKING FOR HIM BECAUSE HE'LL FUCKING KILL YOU AND WEAR YOUR SKIN LIKE A CAPE.

Garbage Bag Murray bashes clenched fists into his desk.

Yale: Jeesh, Andy. Give it up already.

Somewhat shocked by the ferocity of his own outburst, GBM shakes his head and softens his tone. He rises to his full 6'7".

GBM: Sorry, old chap. Didn't mean to make you jump, just the pressures of the job. Thank you very much for stopping by Mr. Sykes, but I must ask you to move along. I've got some really important stuff to do, like--

Sykes: Like preparing for our match?

Andy doesn't need to say "oh shit," because his face does it for him.

GBM: Ummm, no. Like super important boss stuff, because I'm Garbage Bag Johnny: GCW Commissioner. Yup. Uh-huh.

Jared chuckles to himself as he backpedals towards the door.

Sykes: Okay then, how about this... You keep the ghetto beard, and I'll see if can scrounge up a red wig and a silly white pantsuit. We'll go reenact the GTT7 final. AXEL Action can come, too. We'll tattoo his face, and he can summon a kraken. It'll be awesome.

GBM: GTT7 final? We'll need a bald bloke for that. But, aye..

Garbage Bag extends a hand across the desk.

GBM: Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Sykes. Good luck with your match, but please, don't try and find Murray. It's for your own good.

Sykes: Yeah. I'm starting to think you might actually be onto something there.

He adds a few words, whispered under his breath.

Sykes: Better'n being with a hologram, I guess.

And with a nod the SCCW Universal Champion departs, leaving the longest-reigning GCW World Heavyweight Champion alone at last. Andy loosens his tie and wipes the sweat from his brow.

GBM: Thank Shaman for that. Thought he was onto me for a second...

Back to Top

Bryan: Ladies and gentlemen, at this time we'd just like to give you a brief update on the condition of Chris Bagwell. If you're just joining us, earlier tonight Chris Bagwell was assaulted on his way back into his locker room after a short meeting with our acting Commissioner Andy Murray. He was blind-sided by a hooded man with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.

Yale: It was a cowardly move and GCW Security has since been scouring the arena to find anyone who may fit the profile of this pathetic, cowardly asshole.

Bryan: As you know, Chris Bagwell is scheduled for a match tonight in just a little while against Aaron Fujita. The question on everybody's mind for the last forty minutes or so has been if Chris will be able to compete.

Yale: Everyone except Fujita, that is.

Bryan: Just a moment or so ago, a messenger came out to ringside and handed me a note stating that Aaron Fujita should continue his normal preparation for a match tonight. There was no further information nor an actual update on Bagwell's condition.

Yale: It sounds to me like you're going to see vintage Chris Bagwell out here - toughening it out to preserve his pride.

Bryan: Normally, I don't condone any superstar competing that is not medically cleared to do so. But in this case, I think it'd be the ultimate slap in the face to his cowardly attacker. Chris Bagwell will certainly have the full support of everybody tonight!

Back to Top

Bryan: Next up, a match I think we've all been looking forward to. "The Cyberpunk Goddess" Tempest defends her title against the "Entertainment Savior" Phil Atken!

In the ring, Joey Andrews stands next to referee Cameron Wrigley.

Andrews: The following contest...is for the GCW Television championship!!!

The crowd cheers slightly, before fading away to boos as...

"Fucking in the Bushes" by Oasis begins to play as out from the back trot the tandem of Phil Akten and "Superagent" Dirk Dickwood. Phil wears an ill fitting gold and black robe whilst Dirk wears an ill fitting suit.

Andrews: First, making his way to the ring, the challenger. From Glasgow, Scotland, weighing in at 231 pounds...PHIL ATKEN!

Bryan: Atken has been a bit of a scarce in-ring presence since he lost to Valentine some time ago at WorldWide 132.

Yale: How's this chump keep getting title shots when he's obviously such a loser?

Phil and Dirk stomp towards the ring. Dirk jumps on the apron opening the ropes for Phil as Phil takes a moment to yell at various fans then runs up the ring steps. Dirk allows Phil access into the ring, jumps back off the apron and heads to Phil's corner.

Bryan: How can you say he's a loser?

Yale: Lost to David Spencer in the Rampage tournament. Lost to Bryan Mayhem for the Hardcore title. Lost to Valentine, the US Champ. Barely beat that one guy that everyone already forgot about. Cool something or other.

Phil quickly heads towards the turnbuckle and leans against it in the hopes of quickly getting back his breath while he struggles with his robe. He finally successfully disrobes and throws it in Dirk's general direction.

Yale: Prognosis...loser.

Bryan: If he beats Tempest for the TV title, will he still be a loser?

Yale: That's one heckuva big if. He should stick to strictly non-title matches. He’s unbeatable then.

A subtle electronic chorus of voices wafts from the speakers as a laser blue hue pulses across the screen and over the crowd. On their feet at the opening strains of "Battle Flag" by the Lo-Fidelity Allstars, the crowd’s volume starts to rise as flashes of lightning and quick shots of a whirling maelstrom of wind and rain illuminate the darkness on the screen accentuating the beats just as the words kick in.

Then the bass beat kicks in and the images flash to that of a woman’s cobalt blue eyes flashing out of the darkness and a tumble of jet black hair, her face lit by flashes of light and a smile with a light all its own. These are interspersed with the lightning and the storm.

A white hot light flashes from the screen and the real Tempest bounds from beneath the screen to a sparkling shower of blue pyro and a raucous cheer from the crowd.

Andrews: And his opponent...Making her way to the ring, from Hong Kong, in the People’s Republic of China, weighing in at 133.3 pounds, she is your GCW Television Champion…TEEEEEEMMMPEEEEESSST!!!

Bryan: Tempest looking resilient as ever after a great performance at Rampage. And as brutal as it was on her, she’s still here to defend the Television championship here tonight.

Yale: She got owned at Rampage, James. No two ways about it. Tim Shipley had a plan and a backup plan and turned in a brilliant performance himself.

Bryan: I’ll grant you that. It was a stellar match, just not a stellar ending.

Tempest skips and leaps in time to the music’s heavy beat, slapping hands and waving to throngs of fans. She smiles, a little more reserved than usual, but still puts on a spin as the light glints off her sparkly ring attire and the TV title belt.

As she reaches the ring, she bounds up the steps and doesn’t stop, mounting the ropes and standing atop them, toes on the tops, she raises the TV title over her head to a new chorus of cheers. She smiles mischievously and makes a little "TV" frame around her face.

Yale: Well, we’re about to find out how resilient she is as she meets Phil Atken here tonight. And coming of a brutal match, she’d better be. If I’m Atken, I’m thinking this is a great opportunity.

Bryan: If you’re Atken, thinking will be new for you. But it is a big opportunity if he can make something of it. My money says Tempest is in no mood for the Scotsman’s shenanigans tonight.

Tempest leaps into a twirling dismount, before heading to the opposite corner to leap once to the top and salute the fans in the same manner. She leaps again, landing gracefully and eying Atken in a way that might best be described as predatory.

Tempest removes the TV belt from her waist and hands it to Wrigley, but never takes her eyes off of Atken.

Bryan: We’re definitely seeing a determined Tempest tonight.

Wrigley holds up the Television title for all to see, while Tempest and Atken stare down one another. Atken grins, as just as Wrigley hands off the belt and the bell clangs, Tempest lands a hard right cross into Atken’s smug face.

Bryan: What a punch!

Atken checks his lip for blood, but finds none. He takes a full-on swing, but Tempest rolls out of the way. Before Atken can be given a split-second to react, he gets met with a leaping Tempest kick to the side of his mush, sending him straight on his ass.

Tempest tosses her head back, throwing her hair in Atken’s direction. Atken slams the mat in frustration.

Bryan: Tempest has Atken under her thumb in the early going.

He rises up, as the two begin to circle one another, Dickwood hollering out words of encouragement to Atken. They lock up, and Atken uses his superior size and strength to throw Tempest to the mat like a child.

Bryan: Tempest may seem petite to an outsider, but she’s anything but.

Yale: She’s a hellcat, that’s for sure.

Tempest leaps up to the mat and the two lock up again, and Atken again throws her to the mat. She leaps up again and they lock up, but before Atken can get any leverage, she whips him to the ropes. Tempest leap frogs over him on his run back, and as he comes at her again, she smashes into his face with a spinning back kick.

Bryan: A huge kick by Tempest!

Atken clutches his face in pain and rolls out of the ring. He and Dickwood huddle up, as Atken opens his mouth, Dickwood checking for loose molars. They don’t see Tempest coming, though, with a baseball slide, sending both into the railing.

Bryan: The Cyberpunk Goddess is putting on a clinic!

She backs up a bit, as if to get a running start, the crowd calling for high-risk theatrics. As she runs to take out the vulnerable duo, she hesitates, stopping at the ropes.

Yale: What the hell happened there?

Bryan: Not so sure myself.

Looking down at the two, she instead rolls out of the ring and stalks towards them.

Bryan: Looks like she’d rather take the fight to Atken, up close and personal.

Dickwood tries to distract her as Atken still recovers, but she’s having none of it, throwing him out of the way. She walks up to Atken, who pokes her in the eye.

Yale: Guess who just got personal!

Bryan: What a dastardly move.

Atken is in higher spirits, as he kicks the ribs of Tempest, the crowd unflinching in their disdain towards him. He grabs her by the hair and throws her into the ring, following in himself. He drags her to the middle of the ring by her hair and poses over her.

Bryan: I don’t know what he’s so proud of. He hasn’t even really done anything yet!

Yale; Just you wait!

He puts one boot on her chest for the pin, but Tempest sweeps his other leg out from under him and he falls on his ass.

Bryan: He’s not getting out of this one so easily.

With Atken on his knees, Tempest kips up and starts laying into Atken with kicks. Quick and furious, they bounce off each side of Atken’s head, as he teeters about.

Bryan: She’s not holding anything back.

She bounces off the ropes and comes at him with a Yakuza kick, but he’s up on his feet, catching her underneath her leg, lifting her up, and nearly breaking her in two with a spinebuster!

Yale: Atken’s on fire!

Atken take a moment to clear out the cobwebs from her barrage of kicks, but Tempest slowly gets up herself. Atken Irish (or Scottish?) whips her into the corner and runs in after her, but she lifts her legs, and Atken gets a chest-full of kneecaps.

Bryan: Looks like the fire’s just been put out, Dave.

Yale: Says you!

With Atken on wobbly legs, Tempest grabs him by the back of the head and drops him with a bulldog.

Bryan: Classic Tempest!

Yale: At least you didn’t say ‘vintage’.

Tempest jumps up to the top turnbuckle, although she hesitates for a moment before getting to the top. Atken gets to his feet, staggering about, but can’t keep his wits about him and falls to one knee. Tempest, as stoic as ever, stands upright from the top.

Bryan: Here we go!

As Atken tries to remember his name while kneeling, Tempest comes leaping off the ropes…

CATEGORY FIVE!!!

…But Atken suddenly wises up, catches her in mid-air and swoops her around with a thunderous powerslam!

Wrigley counts.

ONE…

TWO…

THRE---KICKOUT!!!

Bryan: Atken nearly pulled off the upset!

Both are on the ground, exhausted, breathing slightly. Wrigley goes with the ten count, as the crowd chants.

TEM-PEST! TEM-PEST! TEM-PEST!

Wrigley gets to four, as the crowd keeps the chant going.

Bryan: This Anaheim crowd is firmly behind Tempest!

Yale (snickering): I bet these nerds’d like to be!

Bryan: Ugh.

As he hits six, Tempest begins the process of getting upright, as the crowd roars.

Bryan: Tempest’s back on her feet.

Yale: But so is Atken!

Sure enough, there’s Phil Atken, up and about. Tempest wastes no time and kicks at his ribs, but Atken catches her kick. Smiling, Atken thinks he has her.

That is, until she hits him with an Enzugiri to the back of the head that makes Atken forget the entire year of 1997. Taking advantage, she leaps to the top-rope again.

Bryan: Tempest, up top!

Meanwhile, after a few moments, Atken shows signs of motor skills and rises up again slowly.

Yale: There ain’t no quit in Atken, I tell you!

Bryan: I thought you thought he was a loser.

Yale: He is. But I’d rather have him as champ than some girl.

Bryan: How progressive of you.

TEM-PEST! TEM-PEST! TEM-PEST!

With Atken barely coherent, she revels in hearing her name echo through the arena.

Bryan: This could do it, folks!

She takes a moment of pause, however, and suddenly jumps off, rushing right up to Atken instead and knocking him down with a running dropkick.

Bryan: Tempest is changing up her game again.

Yale: She had him in her sights. You think she got scared?

Bryan: More cautious, I’d say.

Tempest grabs Atken’s prone legs, and begins to lock them into a Sharpshooter.

Bryan: Tempest looking to end this with the Glitter Grip, maybe?

Before she can get it fully on, Atken scampers forward and grabs a fistful of rope, as Wrigley has her break the hold. Atken rolls onto the apron, and as Tempest reaches to grab him through the ropes, Atken leaps up and grabs her, jumping off the apron and cracking her neck against the ropes!

Bryan: Atken tried to decapitate Tempest!

As Tempest rolls around on the ground, clutching her throat and choking, Atken rolls back into the ring and drags her over to the ropes. Meanwhile, Dickwood has made it to the other side of the ring and jumps up on the apron.

Bryan: What the heck is he doing?

Wrigley runs over to Dickwood, and they begin arguing, but not before Dickwood and Atken exchange a wink.

Bryan: I don't like where this is going...

With Wrigley distracted, Atken puts Tempest's neck on the bottom rope, and begins to choke the ever-loving life out of her.

Yale: Now we're getting somewhere!

Atken is unrelenting, as Tempest gasps for air, her breathing passage stuck between the tough cable-like ropes and Atken's unrelenting grip.

Bryan: Atken is trying to cheat his way to a victory!

Yale: You gotta take it any way you can!

Wrigley catches them out of the corner of his eye, and rushes over, ripping Atken off of Tempest and reading him the riot act, something Atken doesn't seem to take too kindly to.

Bryan: Finally, some sanity.

As Tempest struggles to breathe, Atken picks her up, putting her over her shoulder and marching her over to the corner.

Bryan: Phil Atken might be looking to put this one away…

Yale: Serves her right!

Atken perches her on the turnbuckle, and climbs up. He positions her around, and puts her head between his legs.

Bryan: A powerbomb off the top rope?

Atken gets her up in the air, and leaps off, when suddenly, in mid-air, she twists it to…

Bryan: THE SYSTEM CRASH!!!!

Atken’s head bounces off the mat, and he goes limp. A weary Tempest flips him over and covers.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE!!!

Tempest groggily gets to her feet, as Wrigley hands her the Television title and raises her arm.

Andrews: Your winner…and STILL GCW Television champion…TEEEEEEMMMPEEEEESSST!!!

Tempest raises her title in the air, hovering over the possibly dead Phil Atken, as the crowd chants.

TEM-PEST! TEM-PEST! TEM-PEST!

She jumps out of the ring, and holds her belt up high as she walks to the back.

Bryan: The Cyberpunk Goddess, the runner-up in Rampage, defends her Television title once again!

Yale: And I guess all that’s left for Atken is to get a chance at the World Title and lose, and then maybe we can fire him!

Bryan: Be that as it may, who do you see as potential contenders for Tempest’s title?

Yale: Anyone but that guy.

Bryan: What about a Rasa, or maybe Clyde Fox or Chris Bagwell?

Yale: I could see that happening.

Bryan: Whoever might be next, Tempest will not go down easily.

Yale: Heh!

Bryan: Oh, grow up, Dave.

Dirk Dickwood helps Atken to his feet, as he falls flat on his face just as quick.

Back to Top

The camera cuts backstage to where the Magnificent Messiah is standing directly in front of Garbage Bag Murray’s office door. He knocks politely three times. No answer. He knocks thrice more, more powerfully this time; still, no answer. With a loud groan, he bangs a half-dozen times with the meaty part of his hand. This time the door swings open to Toad, head of GCW Security.

Toad: Knock one more time and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever do with that hand of yours. He’s not available at the moment

Before giving the Messiah a chance to speak, he tries to shut the door forcefully in his face. But TMM manages to get his hand in the way, stopping it before it latched.

Toad: {pulling the door open again} You’re testing my last nerve here, man.

TMM: {ignoring the statement} Tell him it’s urgent.

Toad: For the last time, he ain’t seeing you. Got that Mexican guy in.

TMM: "Mexican guy"?

Toad: Yeah, you know. Alan Quesadilla. Johnny Enchilada. Whatever his name is.

TMM: I don’t care if he’s with the goddamn President; I need to speak with him right now.

Toad: Not possible.

TMM: {through gritted teeth} Do you know who I am?

Toad looks the Magnificent One up and down for a moment before replying.

Toad: Not really. Am I supposed to?

Messiah stares at GCW’s Hardcore Legend as though he is something particularly smelly following his statement.

TMM: Son, I am –

Toad: You’d do well not to cause me ‘son’.

TMM: -- the Magnificent Messiah; GCW’s next big thing. And you’d do well to remember the damn name!

Toad looks down on the much-smaller man with a smirk stretched across his teeth.

Toad: Don’tcha think that maybe you’re a little small to be makin’ such big threats?

Messiah’s face floods a violent shade of red before he cocks back his right hand to make the first move. But before he can, a man’s voice echoes from behind the door.

Voice: Jesus, Toad. What the hell is going on out there?

Toad pushes the door open to reveal Garbage Bag Murray, still wearing his authentic Garbage Bag Johnny Beardwig™.

Toad: Nothing, boss. Just messin’ with the {air quotations} "Messiah" out here.

GBM rises from his chair and motions to the man sitting in front of the desk.

GBM: Mr. Fajitas, please excuse me for a second.

Aaron Fujita: It’s Fujita.

GBM: Sure it is, pal. Sure it is.

The taller of the Garbage Bag brothers steps slowly towards the anxious Messiah.

TMM: You’re not Garbage Bag Johnny.

Utter flabbergasted, the Commissioner looks himself up and down; patting at his chest and face as though making sure they’re still there.

GBM: By Jove, boy, are you going blind? I am clearly Mr. Garbage Bag himself. Have you not seen my exquisite suit and wild, untamed beard? Step inside my office and check out these ficus trees if you don’t believe me.

TMM: Cut the crap and tell me where he is. I need to speak to him.

GBM: You already are.

TMM: I’m sorry?

GBM: Jesus, man. Did someone replace your brain with a raisin? I’m running the show. Now what do you want?

TMM: What I need is for you to tell me where Johnny is. Now.

Much to the Magnificent Messiah’s frustration, GBM simply shrugs.

GBM: I don’t know what to say, mate. I’m the Commissioner; you answer to me. Capiche?

The Messiah turns around to leave.

TMM: {muttering under his breath} Can’t get any respect around here ...

GBM: You wanna talk about respect?

The Magnificent One wheels around to face the King of Garbage Bags. He no longer looks playful or sarcastic. Instead, he is wearing an intimidating look as he speaks.

GBM: How about the way you marched your ass down here on some kinda epic quest, banging your fists on the boss’s door like I’m ‘sposed to owe you something? And then, when I finally decide to be gracious enough to let you in, you stand there huffing like a scorned schoolkid. You want to talk about respect? What in the name of Shaman have you done to earn it? That shit works both ways, kid: you want respect? Start showing it to other people.

The Messiah and the King share a long stare before they speak again.

TMM: {monotone} You finished?

GBM: Yes, and so are you. Scram.

Messiah turns his back on Murray and wheels back down the hall, muttering something under this breath that, this time, went unheard.

GBM: I could get used to this "Harsh Taskmaster" mantle, you know.

He closes the door and the camera fades back to the announcers.

Bryan: Just who in the hell does this guy think he is, talking to Murray like that?

Yale: I can’t agree with his tactics, James, but one can’t deny that this guy has has the balls the size of I don’t know what. He might weigh two bills sopping wet, but he holds himself ten feet tall!

Bryan: Well, if he gets in the Scottish King of Cool’s face again, he’s going to have to wish he actually was ten feet tall.

Back to Top

We come back from commercial break and the lights in the arena are dimmed. Shinning down onto the ring is a purple light, aligned next to the entrance side of the ring is a black marble casket. In the center of the ring Donny Diamond is seen with his head lowered as he stands before a speaking podium.

Bryan: It would seem The Living Nightmare has something to say to everyone here.

Yale: All I can say is this entire scenario is really creeping me out.

Raising his head he looks around at the crowd as silence remains in the arena as no one is sure what is going on.

Donny Diamond: Tonight we will all be moaning the sorrows we all feel over the lack of justice at Rampage. The lack of justice from the entire GCW staff when they did nothing as I was robbed. They all sat in their nice suites the entire night watching the show and did absolutely nothing when I was robbed of the chance to become Hardcore Champion!

Cheers flow from the crowd after hearing those words from Donny Diamond.

Donny Diamond: All of you leeches can cheer at the lack of gold around my waist, but none of you can deny I am the real Hardcore Champion of GCW and I was robbed of my time in the spotlight! Everyone said I cashed in my chance at Mayhem, but no one can find an official who heard me saying I was cashing it in! Yeah I admit to attacking Shaman during his chance, but it's a hardcore match and anything is allowed. I never tagged Mayhem, the only time I ever touched that overrated clown was when I was defending myself!

Yale: Well Donny Diamond does have a point there...

Bryan: He's calling technicalities on what was clearly seen as him trying to take a shortcut to become Champion.

Chants of "Diamond is emo!" starts from the crowd and he pounds his fist down on the podium in anger.

Donny Diamond: But you see none of that matters at all because I showed the world that Shaman cannot beat me. When he planted me with the Desert Spike he believed the same thing all of you leeches believe, he considered it a win. That is until he saw me moving and then he tried to end my career by doing it to me again, but that was his mistake because no one can end my career! And I proved that when I send him through the roof of that limousine with my Diamondized!

He pulls the microphone off from the podium and walks towards the casket at ringside.

Donny Diamond: But tonight is about none of this, because tonight will is the beginning of a new life cycle. This casket symbolizes the burial of any chance Shaman had of Champion, of becoming a star, but most of all it symbolizes any chance he ever had of defeating me. And before it is over, this casket will become the home of his body and soul!

Diamond drops the microphone to the mat and leans under the bottom rope towards the casket. He begins to open the casket and suddenly an arm comes out grabbing Diamond around his neck. The top is pushed open as cheers come from the crowd as Shaman is seen climbing to his feet from inside the casket. Diamond immediately starts punching him in the face and finally rakes him across the eyes causing him to release the hold. He quickly pulls back into the ring and motions for Shaman to get into the ring.

Bryan: Shaman was inside the casket the entire time!

Yale: But Diamond isn't backing down! He's daring Shaman to get into the ring and the crowd is loving it.

Shaman steps out of the casket onto the ring apron and then over the top rope into the ring. Diamond quickly runs towards him and Shaman plants a boot right in his face, knocking him down onto the mat. Shaman grabs hold of him by the head, then lifts him up in suplex form and drops him down hard for the Desert Spike. Diamond remains down on the mat barely breathing after the Desert Spike and Shaman stands over him with the microphone in hand.

Shaman: This should become very familiar to you Diamond. You just like every other jack ass that come before you is going to receive the same treatment. You mess with this sadistic son of a bitch you get the pain treatment.

Cheers come from the crowd as they watch Shaman roll Diamond out of the ring and into the casket. He leans over the ropes and closes it shut, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lock and some chains. Wrapping them around the handle bars he locks the casket shut and then brings the microphone back towards his mouth.

Shaman: Don't ask how i got those chains in my pocket. Just let me say i have very deep pockets. Diamond you alive in there eh?

Shaman knocks on the coffin as he grins looking around and he pushes it up the ramp way to the top of the staging area. He pushes it to the edge and grins as he looks at it.

Shaman: Closer to the edge Diamond. Sooner or later your going to fall from your grace and i will enjoy crushing your hopes and dreams.

Shaman flings the mic to the ground as he turns and simply steps through the curtains.

Yale: Donny Diamond has just been locked in his own casket.

Bryan: Maybe next time Diamond should rethink his strategy before announcing the end of Shaman's career!

As the crowd continues cheering for Shaman's actions the lights in the arena dim once more into a purple glow. Four hooded figures in black coats walk out onto the stage and surround the casket. Grabbing hold of it they push it backstage as GCW cuts to commercial.

Back to Top

Bryan: If you haven't been tuned in all night, then you're probably not aware that Chris Bagwell was assaulted by a hooded assailent earlier. This man, whomever it may be, blindsided Chris Bagwell with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire just as Chris was entering his locker room.

Yale: But just prior to our last match, we received word that Chris Bagwell would be in action tonight!

Andrews: The following contest is for one fall with a twenty minute time limit.

The famous guitar riff and lyrics of "Rock You Like A Hurricane" by The Scorpions fills the air as the lights dim inside the arena. The video screen fills up with two red half circles; the recognized symbol for a hurricane. Moments later Aaron Fujita pushes through the curtain. He throws his arms into the air and spins in a circle before proceeding towards the ring.

Andrews: Making his way to the ring, from Plainfield, Illinois, weighing in at 225 pounds. . . "The Atmospheric Phenomena" Aaron Fujita!

Bryan: Fujita's time here in GCW has been relatively average. While he got off to a great start, his last few bouts haven't necessarilly gone in his favor.

Yale: Go ahead and say it JB - he's been a bust as it pertains to the newly hired.

On his way down he attempts to slap hands with the fans, but comes up empty as everybody backs away from the barriers. Fujita slides in under the bottom rope and hops onto the nearest turnbuckle as his music fades and the lights come back up.

Bryan: Well I wouldn't say he's a bust just yet. He just hasn't quite found his niche.

Yale: And he never will if he continues to believe he's some sort of weatherman! I mean lets get realistic here.

Fujita hops down from his perch on the turnbuckle and begins hitting the ropes, awaiting his opponent.

Yale: If you're Aaron Fujita right now, you've got to be wondering how firey Chris Bagwell is going to come out to this ring. After getting upstaged like that earlier, you know for damn sure that he's going to come out here looking to break necks.

Bryan: You're absolutely right. But keep in mind the condition he's going to be in when he does get out here. Aaron Fujita can very likely pull off a major upset and catapult his own reputation.

BREATHE

Yale: Well we're about to find out!

The infamous word rings throughout the arena as the crowd pops for their new-found hero. "Breathe" by Mike Hardy kicks up over the public announce system while the lights dim and the stage ignites with fancy pyrotechnics.

Andrews: And his opponent, hailing from Newark, New Jersey. He is the RAAAJJAAAAHHH OF RATTTIINNGGSSS.. CCCCCCHHHRIIISSS BAAAAAAAAAAAAGWEEEEEELLLL!!!

Bagwell doesn't step out on stage for his normal cue. Instead, we're left waiting.

Yale: Where is he, JB?!

Bryan: I'm not really sure, Dave. He could just be moving slow because of earlier.

Yale: I don't know - something doesn't seem right.

Fujita glances around the ring, anticipating a sneak attack of some sorts. But he doesn't even get that. He shrugs his arms at referee David Yale, questioning the whereabouts of his opponent. Suddenly, through the smoke, a figure emerges on the stage.

Bryan: AND HERE HE COMES!

However it isn't the figure you expect to see. Instead of the Rajah of Ratings - it's the man in black. The hooded individual is holding the very same barbed wire baseball bat in his hand.

Yale: Oh no. You've got to be kidding me!

Bryan: It's that same bastard who attacked Chris Bagwell earlier! Somebody get security out here!

The hooded man walks to the ring at a quickening pace. Instead of fleeing, Fujita stands his ground with his fists clenched in the area.

Yale: What the hell is Fujita doing, JB?

Bryan: I haven't the slightest clue, but he really needs to get the hell out of there.

The hooded man slides into the ring from under the bottom rope. Fujita wastes little time and springs at the unknown superstar with a clothesline. The hooded man dodges the clothesline and counters by striking the baseball bat into Fujita's chest. Aaron instinctively hunches forward and the hooded man promptly follows up by swinging the baseball bat upward like a gold club, clipping Fujita in the face.

Bryan: MY GOD!

Yale: He may have just busted Fujita's nose!

Fujita crashes to the canvas and immediately grabs his face. In a pure act of survival, he rolls himself to the edge of the ring and drops out to the floor just as the hooded man attempts to spike the baseball bat down across his chest.

Bryan: Aaron was barely able to get out of there.

Yale: This guy's a nutcase.

Bryan: And he looks like he's ready to make a statement...literally!

The hooded man peers around the ring, locking his eyes on the microphone Joey Andrews dropped in a panic. The man in black scoops the microphone from the ground and raises it to his lips.

Yale: Wait, I got it! Digital Mortality is trying to rehash his old gimmick!

Bryan: Just shush for a second and let's see what he's got to say.

In a very familiar voice...

Masked Man: For the past two years, Chris Bagwell has terrorized Global Championship Wrestling and each and every one of you. And for the past two years, I've lived underneath his shadow, a ticking time bomb...waiting to explode.

Bryan: Wait just a minute...this can't be...

Masked Man: In case you haven't already figured it out, Chris Bagwell won't be making it to the ring tonight.

Yale: I know that voice, JB. It's unmistakeable!

The masked man rips his hood back to unveil his face to the stunned Anaheim audience.

Bryan: MY GOD, I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!

Yale: IT'S HIM! I KNEW IT! HE'S BACK! HE'S BACK!

Bryan: IT'S DAN 'THE BULLDOZER' BLACK!

Dan Black: Because Chris Bagwell is somewhere laying in a hospital bed right now - BLACK'D OUT!

'The Bulldozer' spikes the microphone to the ground as "Indestructable" by Disturbed blares throughout the Honda Center. Black rests the barbed wire baseball bat on his shoulder as he stares off into the crowd with a grin on his face. He admires the damage he's done to Aaron Fujita and most certainly to his former friend, and mentor, Chris Bagwell.

Bryan: I'm at a loss for words right now, Dave.

Yale: What's there to be at a loss for? Big D has triumphantly made his return to GCW.

Bryan: But to stab his good friend in the back like that?!

Yale: Now let's not go around pointing figures. If I remember correctly, it was Chris Bagwell who left Axel Action and Dan Black at each other's throats. And it was Chris Bagwell who cracked a chair over Zacharia Taylor's skull - a man who was supposed to be his best friend. Bagwell is no stranger to back-stabbing.

Bryan: I thought you loved Bagwell? You've never spoken harshly about him. EVER!

Yale: Things change, JB. And if Bagwell is going to walk around like he's some kind of saint now, then I can't hold him in the same regard as I used to. I liked Bagwell because he told it how it was. Now - well - who knows whats going on in that head.

Back to Top

Bryan: What a show we've had thus far, folks, and we haven't even gotten started yet.

Yale: We've still got Tim Shipley and Jay Terror in the main event, and a ton more action you'll only see here.

Bryan: Including a visit from newly-crowned Sin City Championship Wrestling Universal Champion Jared Sykes, who'll be stepping into somewhat hostile territory here in Anaheim as he takes on arguably GCW's most popular superstar, the Scottish King of Cool, Andy Murray.

Yale: I've seen this Sykes kid in action, James, and let me tell you – he didn't climb to the top of that mountain without some serious skill.

Bryan: It'll be the third first-round match that a GCW star has competed in during the Dirty Dozen tournament to crown a new Elite Champion. It started nine days ago at SCCW's Rumble in Richmond, as Clyde Fox, just a few days removed from a brutal, exhausting Double Cage World Title match in Tokyo at Rampage.

Yale: Excuses, excuses.

Bryan: Bless him, but Clyde tried – several times during the match, he had Alexandra Pierce, the GTT7 champion, literally on the ropes.

Yale: But he failed, James.

Bryan: In the end, yes, Pierce was able to take advantage of a perhaps not 100% Clyde Fox, and she'll face the winner of the Sykes/Murray match in the semifinals. Which brings us to—

Yale: Which brings us to highlights of way more awesome people, right? Like Vivica J. Valentine! Who wants to see that dork take on some hag from another fed, when the real star—

Bryan: Which brings us to... Sally Ford.

Yale: Well, that's okay, too.

Bryan: Sally is standing by somewhere here at the Honda Center and we're told she's got a special guest. Sally?

Cut backstage – up to one of the premium suites, actually. The place is remarkably well-appointed, and so is the blonde with the microphone, if you know what we're saying.

Ford: Thanks, guys. Please welcome my guest at this time... an interested bystander in one of our upcoming bouts... the GTT7 champion, SCCW's own Spider in the Web, Alexandra Pierce.

Pan slightly to the left.

The cheer she gets still sounds foreign. It's more of a "holy crap, it's really her!" roar than any overt expression of fondness. The contrast between Sally and the Spider cannot be overstated. Alexandra Pierce is all hard angles, not soft curves, and while Pierce will never be conventionally pretty, she certainly is striking, from the cold gray medusa's glare to her head of blood-red hair, gathered into a lazy spray of a tail. Pierce dresses for comfort and ease of moment, not style. She's wearing pair of fitted, gunmetal gray slacks and a matching tanktop. The design features a stylized image of a medusa's head, but no other ornamentation.

Ford: Alexandra, welcome.

Pierce: Thank you, Ms. Ford. Just passing through.

Ford: I'm sure you're here to see the match between Jared Sykes and Andy Murray to determine your semifinals opponent?

Pierce: Is that tonight?

Her voice is quiet, whisper-soft yet diamond-hard. She wears the coyness of that question uneasily – it sharpens her knife blade of a smile.

Pierce: You know perfectly well why I am here. I am here because, yes, I am as you put it, an "interested bystander" in Jared's bout with your Mr. Murray. I am here because I was in San Diego this past weekend for Comic-Con and I was extended a very gracious invitation. I am here because I intend to become Elite Champion, and no amount of tape does justice to watching a man fight in person.

Ford: Haven't you seen Jared Sykes wrestle a ton of times?

Pierce: Of course. I have fought him and fought with him. And if I were certain he'd be victorious, I might have foregone attending altogether. But I was quite close to a woman who duplicated Andrew's title reign over in SCCW, and I know precisely what caliber of man he must be.

Ford: You're speaking of Amy Campbell, your former paramour and the current girlfriend of Jared Sykes, correct?

Alexandra's face is made of stone, but there grows to be an element of tightness to that smile at Sally's words. Nothing so obvious as anger, but whatever it is, just the weight of that glare is enough to make the microphone shake just a touch.

Pierce: I am speaking of Amy Campbell, the most decorated woman in this sport. The way you've described her may also be true, but it's immaterial to all of this, trust me.

Sally raises one hand, stepping back just a skosh.

Ford: All right, all right! Sorry. It's just... it can't be immaterial. If you're fighting the guy dating your ex, that's going to come up, isn't it?

Pierce: Perhaps. As with everything, I will take this one step at a time. First, I will see whether Jared wins or not. Then I will determine what that means to me. I won't speculate. They are both talented gentlemen, and I'm certain it will be quite the fight. But if you're expecting me to say that I don't respect Andy Murray for what he's done or that I hate Jared Sykes for his relationship with Amy... you clearly have not been paying attention.

"I hate him. Does that count?"

The new speaker is a teenaged girl with long, dark hair and a blue t-shirt reading "This Shirt Is Only Blue When I'm Thinking About Dwarves". She's juggling a pair of extra-large sodas and a tray full of nachos. Her name is Quinn Gregory, and she happens to be the Devil's Daughter, so to speak.

Quinn: But I'm sixteen, so I have an excuse.

With that, she summarily ignores the interviewer, handing one of the sodas (an un-cola, based on what can be seen through the lid), over to her mother.

Quinn: Okay, they didn't have Sprite, but they've got Sierra Mist, which is kind of gross but whatever. But they had Twizzlers and not Red Vines, so... bonus.

Pierce: Great.

She slides that green-eyed gaze over to the blonde.

Quinn: And you're still here. Look, lady... we're just... y'know, we're just fans. These guys don't want to hear about Jared Sykes and Amy Campbell, or any of that – if they did, they'd be watching Temptation—

The teen turns to the camera, her smile turning impish.

Quinn: —Every other Sunday at ten on Cinemax—

And then back to Ford.

Quinn: So how about you toddle off and interview someone else, and we'll have nachos and Twizzlers, okay?

Pierce: Quinn.

Quinn: What? I'm tired of people badgering you because they figure they will be the one that breaks you.

Alex's smile is brief, short, and apologetic.

Pierce: Forgive her. But tonight is about Andy Murray versus Jared Sykes, and my daughter and I will be honored to watch it. Whoever wins, I'll look forward to the challenge.

The Spider tucks her chin, tugged away by her daughter to an expansive couch.

Pierce: Have a pleasant evening, Ms. Ford.

Sally's turned back to the camera, her smile locked quickly into place.

Ford: There you have it, guys – the GTT7 Champion is in the house tonight, and she's here to scout her opposition for the Dirty Dozen semifinals.

Cut away.

Back to Top

Cutting backstage, staff and other workers are having to jump out of the way. The reason? Chris and friends are still riding rampant backstage with their tricked out golf cart. This time Johnny the Kid is driving while Chris rides shotgun, baseball bat in his hand. They turn a corner and Chris swings the bat as he leans out of the golf cart, absolutely demolishing a…mailbox?

Storm: Woooooo!!!

They continue on, Chris simply abusing the mailboxes that oddly line the hall.

Yale: My mailbox! I was waiting for a very special package! You damn hooligans!

Bryan: Why are there mailboxes backstage?

Yale: Well how else are we supposed to get our mail?

All of the ruckus of smashing up mailboxes seems to attract the attention of the current Fill-In Commissioner, Garbage Bag Murray. Sticking his head out of his office, GBM makes sure his beard is in good position. Seeing the Commish-for-night looking at them, Johnny the Kid pulls the golf cart up to them. Chris stands on the edge, holding the bat behind his back.

Storm: Like? We got us a tricked out ride. Check this out.

Chris flips a switch and the golf cart starts low-riding and leaning to each side.

Storm: Turns out Rasa’s a Mexican! Viva la rasa!

Hitting the horn, the golf cart starts playing "La Cooka Racha".

GBM: That’s, uh, nice guys.

Storm: Dude, Garbage, you’re beards not looking so good.

Garbage Bag Murray pulls out a mirror, examining it.

GBM: What do you mean? This is the beard, I, Garbage Bag Johnny always has.

Storm: Yeah but it looks like you could use a good shave. Here, we’ll help since we’re such awesome guys.

Chris holds out his hand (the one not hiding the baseball bat) and Rikki hands him a balloon. Chris quickly whips it at Garbage Bag Murray, nailing him with a shaving cream balloon.

Storm: Woooo! Barbasol!

Roxx: SHAVE CLEAN, AMERICCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

Chris looks directly at the camera.

Storm: This part of the show is brought to you by Barbasol and new Pacific Rush shaving cream. Barbasol, reminding you to keep it clean, America.

Roxx: SHAVE CLEAN, AMERICCCCCCCCCCCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!

And with their product placement check firmly secured for the night, the three make a quick escape while our Commissioner for the Night has to grab a towel from his office to clean himself up. Grabbing the phone off his desk, he brings his up to speak.

GBM: Someone get me Toad, we’ve got some wanks running around backstage that need to get tossed out on their ears.

He stops, listening to the other side for a moment.

GBM: Yeah, it’s Storm and Rikki, and I think a cardboard cutout of Markus. Yeah, I don’t know either. Just tell Toad I don’t want them to be a problem for the rest of the night. Thanks.

Hanging up the phone, the camera cuts back to ringside.

Bryan: Well it looks like our Commissioner is finally going to get this under control!

Yale: I hope so! That was a new mailbox!

Bryan: We’ll have to see what Toad can do. He’s never exactly had the best of luck in getting Banned & Exiled~! under control, so I don’t know if he’ll fare any better here.

Back to Top

Everybody wants some by Van Halen blasts over the speakers as right on cue a young man with blond hair and a woman at his side raises his hands. Walking down to the ring the crowd doesn’t react very well to the man as he begins cussing and pointing at them.

Yale: Who the hell is this?

Bryan: Looks to me that this is the new guy.

Yale: Rookie Frederick Mannely?

Bryan: Must be.

He climbs up onto the outer apron and pointed at the woman as she opens the ropes for him as he steps through. He doesn’t even look back at her as he steps into the center of the ring. He turns and looks at the woman as she climbs through the ropes and simply shakes his head and waves his hand over towards a ring technician asking for a mic. He takes the mic and brings the mic up.

Mannely: Will you get a damn move on, Man it is pathetic what type of escorts you can get around ehre.

The crowd cheers at the mention of escort.

Yale: I don’t think this is a ..!?!

Mannely looks down at the commentators and yells at them.

Mannely: This is my mic time not yours, Don’t make me come down there and kick your asses from here to Tokyo!

Yale and Bryan raise their arms kind of stunned as Mannely turns and looks around.

Mannely: Well, well, well, If it isn’t the old GCW! I am the best talent this place ahs ever seen. You came and got me as I was conquering the world. You scouted me and found the best. So tonight I am going to do you all a favor and show you how great I am.

The crowd begins to chant.

Crowd: YOU SUCK!! YOU SUCK!! YOU SUCK!!

Mannely raises his arms as he looks around.

Mannely: What are you jealous? You pay me to be here. You bought the tickets, just to see me!

He runs his hands slowly down across his chest trying to draw a reaction from the crowd as he smirks.

Mannely: Ok you want proof of my greatness then get the damn referee out here first.

A referee slowly walks from the curtains heading to the ring.

Mannely: That is right folks I am your Messiah, your Maharajah of the ring. So if there is anyone man enough o come to the ring and face me bring it on. I can beat anyone of you in the back. You are nothing before my greatness.

Dimmu Borgir - The Serpentine Offering blasts over the PA system, Shaman steps through the curtains as white mist rolls around him. He raises his hands and brings them down as two bolts of lightning hit behind him.

Andrews: Making his way to the ring, from Mojave, New Mexico, weighing in at 335 pounds. . . SHAMAAAAAAN!

Bryan: Mannely just got an answer.

Yale: Shaman has been in a bad mood all night.

Shaman slowly walks to the ring. he stops at ringside reaching up he grabs the second rope and pulls himself up onto the ring apron. Pushing down the top rope he simply steps over it and into the ring.

Bryan: One of GCW's bigger men and one of the more dangerous ones at that.

Yale: Someone Mannely did not want to come face to face with..

Turning Shaman stalks back and forth like a caged animal ready and waiting to strike. Mannely steps forward looking at Shaman as he stops. Shaman eyes the young man as he simply stares at him.

Mannely: Who the hell do you think you are Tonto?

Shaman simply watches Mannely as he says nothing.

Mannely: Look old man go on your way back to the back, before I hurt you so bad they will never let you out of the nursing home again.

Shaman simply smiles, raising his hand he motions for Mannely to bring it.

Mannely: I warned you old man!

Throwing the mic down he runs forward attacking Shaman. Stepping back Shaman grabs Mannely by the throat and hoists him. Mannely struggles as Shaman grips with another fist around Mannely’s throat. Slinging him across the ring into the corner he turns and charges slamming hard into Mannely.

Yale: Mannely has bitten off more than he can chew here.

Bryan: The guy threatened us, like I would care.

Mannely staggers out of the corner as Shaman steps backwards. Shaman simply grabs Mannely, he looks around and smirks as he hoists him up in the air and executes a desert spike on Mannely. Leaning back against Mannely he places his arms behind his head and says something to the referee who drops down for the count.

1..

2..

3..

Ding Ding Ding!!

Shaman stands up and looks at the referee. Grabs him and slings him over the top rope and hops out himself as he reaches under the ring. He pulls out a rope and tosses it back into the ring.

Bryan: What is Shaman doing?

Yale: Well Shaman is the victor with Mannely’s challenge.

Rolling back into the ring Shaman flips the rope over a few times and pulls it through. He holds up a noose and drops down grabbing Mannely by the head looping the noose over and around his throat. Shaman drags Mannely back to his feet as he motions for the mic. Catching it after it was tossed to him Shaman holds the rope above Mannely’s head choking him.

Shaman: It is always some punk like you that wants to get into the fast lane. Well guess what you have just been brought down by someone who enjoys crushing Messiahs or Maharajahs.

Spinning him Shaman slings him over the top rope hanging Mannely who barely has his feet touching the arena floor. Shaman pulls the rope tight and ties it off on the opposite ropes across the ring.

Shaman: Like Diamond I handle the business.

Turning and pointing at Mannely

Shaman: That is an example for you Diamond, I am tired of upstarts and ignorant bastards who think they can just step in thinking they can beat anybody. Take this as a warning to anyone who comes in thinking they are the greatest and anyone who acts like Diamond.

Shaman throws the mic down looking around. He hops out of the ring near Mannely and eyes him. He turns and reaches over the guard rail grabbing a chair. He turns and closes the chair and slams it into Mannely over and over. He grins as he drives the chair into Mannely’s ribs. He then grins as he drops it down on the arena floor as he grabs Mannely’s chin and says something. Shaman releases Mannely forcefully and then turns walking away.

Yale: I think Shaman is sending a message to Donny Diamond here.

Bryan: I think Shaman has ended Mannely’s GCW run.

Camera fades to commercial showing Shaman’s brutality on Mannely.

Back to Top

Triumph Frost walks down the hallway to his luxury suite, with Alexis following close and playing lookout for any possible danger.

Bryan: It seems Triumph has finally managed to avoid the Lunatic, which is hardly an easy task.

Yale: The guy's a regular Hellhound.

Triumph, as lax as ever, drags the Hardcore champion along the ground, as if he were Linus with his favorite blanket. Alexis chides him as they walk.

Alexis Frost: Will you just pick that damn thing up?

Triumph shrugs, as they arrive at his luxury suite. Opening up the door, horror abounds.

It’s as if a hurricane razed the room. Furniture smashed, tables overturned. Lights flicker occasionally, illuminating a disturbing sight: blood splashed across nearly every wall, still fresh, dripping down to the carpet below.

Alexis covers her mouth.

Alexis Frost: I think I’m gonna be sick.

She holds herself up against the wall with her hand. Triumph, however, remains nonchalant.

Even when Mayhem himself appears behind him.

Bryan Mayhem: Do I have your attention now?

Triumph swings around to face Mayhem, and chuckles.

Triumph Frost: Wasn’t my shit you destroyed.

He shakes his head.

Triumph Frost: I’m not impressed with all your chest-thumpin’ theatrics. I don’t give a shit that people think you’re some sort of monster. But I know I beat your ass twice. By myself. Hell, not even Tonto coulda pulled that shit off.

Mayhem's breathing intensifies slightly.

Triumph Frost: Way I see it, I owe you precisely dick.

Triumph slightly tilts his head, a smirk crossing his face.

Triumph Frost: Or maybe, you admit something to yourself.

Mayhem's curiosity piques, and Triumph moves slowly closer. Mayhem still won’t budge.

Triumph Frost: Admit that cold, terrible truth we both know.

Frost grabs the back of Mayhem’s neck, and before he can react, Frost leans into Mayhem’s ear. Mayhem holds off his attack, as Frost whispers something to Mayhem.

Suddenly, Mayhem shoves Frost off, his eyes as wide as saucers, filled with seething rage.

Bryan: What did he--OH MY!

Mayhem grabs around Triumph’s throat, his massive hand clutching ‘round the Hardcore champ’s neck. Triumph, even in this moment, exudes confidence.

After a few moments, Mayhem simply lets go, and Triumph drops to the ground, sitting and staring at the Lunatic with a shit-eating grin.

Mayhem’s breathing goes light, and he storms off, displaying a rare emotion: disgust.

Triumph watches him leave, with that same smile, as Alexis checks on her man.

Bryan: Whatever Triumph Frost told Bryan Mayhem, I can't imagine he liked what he heard.

Yale: You think this means something? Something Triumph knows?

Bryan: I haven’t the slightest clue. But whatever it is, it certainly can’t be good.

Back to Top

Yale: OK, so now comes the part of the show that confuses me, JB. We’ve got our very own Andy Murray wrestling a match in the first round of the Dirty Dozen contest for the Elite Championship, against -- Jared Sykes? What is that, Roxie’s long-lost cousin or what?

Bryan: You’re not serious, Dave?

Yale: When am I ever not serious?

Bryan: You know SCCW, right?

Yale: I can’t say that I-- oh, that outfit that used to be called FUSE?

JB rolls his eyes at a joke that was already tired way back in 2007.

Bryan: It’s a great honour here on WorldWide to have the SCCW Universal Champion here with us. Jared Sykes has spent a large part of his career being the underdog, but at SIN on SPIKE V he finally overcame the odds to win a STACKED eight-person tournament to take the vacant Universal Championship. That might make him an early favourite, Dave, for the Elite Championship -- another tournament that’s for a belt that lies vacant.

Yale: Excuse me if I shit all over that idea. In GCW we know a thing or two about vacant titles, and who’s this Jared Sykes facing tonight? Andy Murray. The guy who held the belt for the longest time ever before letting LK have his victory swansong.

Bryan: And when the belt did become vacant, Andy didn’t compete for it...

Yale: Because it’s somebody else’s turn. Tessa Windsor’s, as it turned out. The point I’m making, JB, is Jared Sykes is not the Andy Murray of FUSE -- er, SCCW -- however much he would like to be.

Bryan: I don’t know, Dave. He’s a hugely popular figure over there, and now that he’s got the top strap, that would be the most obvious comparison.

Yale: No way in hell, JB. Jared Sykes used to call himself King Blueberry. He’s the Clyde Fox. Maybe not even that. Maybe he’s the Rikki Roxx of SCCW.

Killswitch Engage. "Save Me".

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Jared Sykes isn’t exactly helped by the huge SCCW logo that flashes up on the screen above the entrance-way. Perhaps he shouldn’t, but the 31-year-old looks more than a little surprised at the heat he’s getting.

Andrews: Ladies and gentlemen... the following contest is a singles match in the first round of the PTC Elite Championship Dirty Dozen Tournament! Introducing first... a special guest from Sin City Championship Wrestling...

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Sykes trudges down to the ring, looking completely downcast at his reception, already having abandoned his attempt to sign autographs at one side of the stage.

Andrews: ...from Boston, Massachusetts... weighing in at 195 pounds... he is the SCCW Universal Champion...

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Andrews: ...JAAAARRRRRED... SYYYYYYYYYYYKESSSSSSSSSSSS!!!

Bryan: He hasn’t brought his belt with him, out of respect for GCW, but nonetheless Jared Sykes is getting a less than favourable reception from the crowd here in Anaheim!

Yale: That’s because these are GCW fans, JB! Say what you like about GCW -- so long as it’s good things -- we know how to keep a fanbase loyal. We’ve been touring the world since 2001, JB. And where was Jared Sykes in 2001? Can you answer me that?

Bryan: Stitching together a blueberry outfit, most likely...

Sykes enters the ring to join referee Hal Jenkins. The young official looks awestruck as the champion basks in the lights that bear down on the ring.

Please allow me to adjust my pants...
So that I may dance the good time dance!

The spitting guitars of Clutch’s "The Mob Goes Wild" are soon lost as yes, indeed, the mob goes wild. The Scottish King of Cool can’t help himself grinning as he spreads his arms wide, soaking in one of his most memorable ovations as he comes through the curtain. He’s got a GCW-branded towel thrown over his head. Even the few fans who normally regard themselves immune to the King’s considerable charms are on their feet cheering, because this isn’t just about Andy Murray. This is about GCW.

Bryan: Here he is, Dave! Our King!

Yale: Watch Sykes, JB. Watch him. He can’t handle this.

Bryan: He’s used to being the one getting this sort of treatment!

Murray cracks up as he pulls off the towel and tosses it into the baying crowd, revealing that he’s still wearing Garbage Bag Johnny’s beard. Other than that it’s business as usual, with his ribs now healed and no longer any need for strapping.

Andrews: And his opponent...

In homage to SCCW, the crowd goes "RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" This piques Sykes’ attention, who makes an offhand comment to the referee, who cracks up. Back on the stage, Murray can’t take the grin off his face, and bows exaggeratedly to the fans at either side, posing for pictures scratching at his beard-for-the-night.

Andrews: ...from Aberdeen, Scotland...

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"

Andrews: ...weighing in at 275 pounds...

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"

Andrews: ...the former GCW World Heavyweight Champion...

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"

Andrews: ...he is wearing the Beard of Johnny...

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"

Andrews: The Scottish King of Cool... AAAANNNNNNDDYYYY... MUUUURRRRRRRAAAYYYYYYY!!!

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"

Yale: Wow, my ears hurt.

Murray hops up into the ring, nodding to Hal Jenkins, who just continues staring at the two of them. Murray offers his hand to Sykes, who hesitates for a moment, still awed at the reaction the King draws, then slaps it. Murray grins, and presently Sykes grins, too.

Bryan: Andy Murray and Jared Sykes have a lot in common, Dave. They’re fun, they’re popular, and they’re extremely impressive in the ring.

Yale: Be that as it may, Murray has almost a foot on Sykes, and a good 80 pounds. That asshole may be smiling but he’s clearly intimidated.

Bryan: This is a meeting of giants. The longest reigning GCW World Heavyweight Champion of all time. The current SCCW Universal Champion and winner of the High Rollers Tournament... beating out such luminaries as Aimz, Lance Marshall, Alexandra Pierce, and in the final, Terrence Kingsley.

The camera cuts up to a skybox as James Bryan speaks, showing a woman and a girl who looks to be in her late teenage years.

Yale: Hey, looks like whichever of these guys wins tonight gets more than one prize.

Bryan: That’s Alexandra Pierce! The former Desade. And I think that’s her daughter Quinn with her; she’s also now a competitor in SCCW.

Yale: What, they just let family in like that? That explains how this Jared Sykes guy got a job. Told you he was a distant cousin of Roxie’s.

Bryan: Pierce defeated GCW’s very own Prince of the Playroom, Clyde Fox, at SCCW’s last show in the first round of this tournament -- and she’s going to face whoever wins tonight in the next round!

Yale: A rude awakening. She looks like she ate a lemon or six. Could with Murray’s patented Shutthef--

Bryan: Hey, look, we’ve been talking for like a half-hour, and they’re starting.

In the ring, Murray paces around, looking relaxed in his home environment. The chants of "MUR-RAY! MUR-RAY!" are already dominant. The Scot looks to give the fans what they want and goes straight in with a right hand, but Sykes steps nimbly out of the way and plants an elbow in the base of Murray’s spine, bringing a groan out of the King. Murray takes hold of the top rope with both hands to stop himself stumbling forward, and it proves helpful as Sykes’ leg drag is halted before it’s begun. Murray signals with both hands for Sykes to step up. The SCCW champion does, and steps back, waiting for Murray to make a move. The King socks him in the jaw.

Yale: Murray looks on top of his game, JB. He looks happy, relaxed, and fitter than he has been in some months.

Bryan: I’ll wager he’s glad to have Tim Shipley out of his hair.

Yale: Oho, I wouldn’t be so sure. Shipley walked out on that match at Rampage, leaving Cheap Labor to be fed to the wolves. Neither Shipley nor Murray will be content to let sleeping dogs lie.

Sykes stumbles, his hand testing his lip, which isn’t bleeding. He raises his eyebrows at Murray as the pair’s eyes meet, Murray still grinning through his borrowed beard. Murray grabs Sykes by the wrist and goes for the Irish whip, but Sykes lands his boot on Murray’s knee to block the manoeuvre, and then pulls Murray to the ground with a whipped arm drag. Murray is in a sitting position and Sykes drops into a low two-boot kick to the spine, causing the King to yell out and roll onto his front.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Bryan: Jared Sykes is resolute in his attempts to ensure Andy Murray does not gain control of these early stages.

Yale: With the crowd so heavily behind him, Murray building up any momentum at all could send Jared Sykes home with his tail between his legs. Then we can bring this Desade down from the box and finish things all in one night. I don’t want to have to see that logo on the Megatron again.

Sykes backs away, looking nervously out at the hordes of fans all on Murray’s side. He tentatively claps his hands together, trying to rally some support for himself. There are a few scattered cheers, though it’s unclear whether they’re from SCCW fans or drunks. If indeed there is a difference. Up in the skybox, Alexandra Pierce doesn’t join the applause, instead pointing something out to her daughter.

Yale: Jared Sykes is wasting valuable time here worrying about fans that will never waste even their least valuable time worrying about him.

Andy Murray struggles to his feet, the dropkick to the back of his ribcage having jarred him.

Bryan: Well, Murray’s strapping has come off but the rib that had a fracture may still remain weak.

Murray sees Sykes appealing to the crowd and comes up behind his opponent. Sykes stiffens, but Murray issues a ‘Come on!’ gesture to the crowd, encouraging their applause. He points with both extended index fingers at his opponent, nodding to register his appreciation for a fellow top professional.

Yale: ...And now I remember why I usually sit here and tell you all how much I don’t like Andy Murray.

The self-proclaimed Last Great Showman now offers a hand to Sykes, who takes it and shakes it, grinning. The fans cheer approvingly before Murray signals to Sykes to back away. The two adopt fighting stances and get ready to go at it once more. Sykes is in first, dropping low to take Murray’s waist. Murray drives both elbows quickly down between the shoulderblades and Sykes freezes, allowing Murray to gain control, shoving his opponent’s head between his legs. The crowd begins to roar as Murray looks to lift Sykes as if for a powerbomb, but the nicknameless SCCWer (which makes for a sad match-writer) squirms out easily.

Yale: That’s way early to go for the big move. Andy Murray has got to be sure he isn’t reliant on the showstoppers, because when you’re up against the best, that opportunity won’t always arise.

Bryan: I’m pleased to hear you’re acknowledging that Jared Sykes is a world-class competitor, Dave.

Yale: ...What? Oh, I was talking about when Murray meets a Chris Storm or a Jay Terror, or even his rematch with Shipley. You know – the best. Not some lightweight like this Jared Sykes.

Sykes scoots around behind his slower adversary, bringing him down in a backslide before spinning around with the arm lock still intact and turning Murray over in a Mexican surfboard.

Yale: I don’t know how that worked.

Bryan: Me neither, Dave. But his bio says his wrestling style is "Japanese light-heavyweight/American independent", and I don’t know what that means.

Yale: So you crossed Japanese and American to get Mexican? YOU RACIST.

Murray grimaces as Sykes drives his boot in between the shoulders, pulling both arms back and leaning away to make the hold hurt. The fans begin to clap their hands to support Murray, but Sykes cinches the hold one last time and as he draws a gasp of pain suddenly relinquishes it, darting to the ropes and bouncing off the second with a moonsault!

Bryan: Athletic manoeuvre from Jared Sykes, flipping over and landing on Murray.

Yale: He actually worked that well, he knew that Murray would roll onto his back as he released the surfboard lock to stretch it out, and then came down hard on his front with the moonsault.

Sykes hooks the leg, and the boos begin to ring out as Hal Jenkins drops and counts.

....1!

....2!

...

Murray kicks out.

Yale: Nah, not a chance.

Bryan: Did that seem a little... slow to you, Dave?

Yale: Well, there were four dots instead of three before the numbers...

Sykes gets up with a hint of a frown and shrugs apologetically to the fans, who are booing him once more.

Bryan: He doesn’t know what to do to get on this crowd’s good side, Dave, and I gotta say I feel for the guy.

Yale: Least you don’t feel the guy.

As Murray gets to his feet, the smile is gone from his face. Sykes somewhat unwisely throws a right hand, which Murray easily swats away and returns with twice the power. Sykes drops to a knee, but is able to block Murray’s next punch and segue into a chin crusher!

Bryan: Jared Sykes outwitted Murray there!

Yale: Neither of these guys is most comfortable when throwing right hands, and that showed right there.

Murray and Sykes are both back on their feet and Murray whips Sykes to the ropes, but once again Sykes is able to prevent the execution and reverses, sending the heavier man to the ropes. Sykes follows up, sprinting at Murray and driving a knee into his gut on the turn, causing Murray to flip in the air and land hard on his back!

Bryan: Ooof! 275 pounds of Andy Murray goes flying over Sykes’ knee!

Red-faced, Murray struggles straight back up to his feet, whirling around to look for Jared Sykes...

Bryan: CRACK THE SKY!! Neckbreaker from the apron -- Sykes leaping into the ring and taking Murray out!

Having again outpaced Murray, Sykes looks for the second time for a pinfall.

....1!

....2!

...

Kickout!

This time Sykes is straight up and wagging an angry finger in Hal Jenkins’ face.

Yale: Again with the ‘slow counts’!

Bryan: But Hal wouldn’t hurt a fly!

The referee looks almost anguished as he clasps his hands together, denying any wrong-doing.

Yale: I guess with this crowd firmly on Murray’s side, Hal Jenkins might just be subconsciously short-changing Sykes.

Vigorously shaking his head, Sykes storms away into the corner to calm down, but turns away again when he sees the front-row fans jeering and making rude signs at him. Turns away, that is, straight into Andy Murray.

Bryan: Sidewalk slam!!

Yale: Ha! That’s it, plant the bastard!

"G-C-Dub! G-C-Dub!"

Murray takes Sykes by the hair and leads him back up to his feet, scratching out a couple of knife-edge chops to the chest. For the third time in the match, he tries to whip the SCCW Champion to the ropes. For the third time in the match, Sykes reverses. But this time Murray is ready, and reverses again... and Sykes reverses again. And Murray tries to reverse again but they’re tangled up in the ropes and both spring off, hitting the mat. Sykes aims a sharp kick at Murray’s chest as he scrambles back up, causing Murray to curse and lose his balance.

Bryan: Sykes starting to realise he’s gonna have to play dirty!

Sykes sprints away from Murray, right across the ring to the opposite ropes where he bounces off to charge at his opponent. The 275-pounder gets to his feet just in advance of Sykes and, angered by the cheap kick, opens his fat Scottish mouth (deep-fried-everything) and just screams at him. Sykes stops dead in his tracks just inches from Murray, not startled nor scared -- he's done his homework; the King’s done this before -- but frankly disgusted. He shoots out his hand and grabs Murray by the beard, violently ripping it off!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Yale: NO! NOT THE BEARD OF JOHNNY!

Murray’s eyes open in horror as Sykes contemptuously discards Garbage Bag Johnny’s lovingly groomed facial hair (Hal Jenkins will shortly pocket it, as surreptitiously as possible) before booting Murray heavily in the mid-section. He pulls Murray into a grappling position but Murray pushes him bodily away, before dishing out a kick to the gut of his own.

Bryan: Andy Murray gives Sykes a taste of his own medicine!

And Murray’s got something to follow it up with. It’s called the Hex Breaker. Bitch.

Yale: EAT SHIT, SYKES!

Bryan: Dave! Calm down!

Yale: But this is OVER!

Bryan: Andy Murray NAILING Jared Sykes with his Hex Breaker! All that remains is the three-count!

Hal Jenkins grins and begins to get to his hands and knees, but Murray wags a finger.

He’s still standing.

Yale: What is this?!

A smile comes across Andy Murray’s face. He shifts his stance, looking out at the distant skybox where he knows Alexandra Pierce is holed up. He extends his right arm, pointing. The fans quickly catch on and boo heavily.

Bryan: Andy Murray is sending a message to Alexandra Pierce, his opponent in the next round!

Murray’s hand turns slowly around, his index finger withdrawing... his middle finger extending...

Yale: HAHAHA! Oh, this is awesome! Never let me say a bad word about Andy Murray again!

And his grin only widens as his eyes set themselves on the turnbuckle. Three slow paces take him to the ropes. The fans go wild as he ascends. First rope. Second rope. Top rope.

Bryan: Time for a flying elbow! Jared Sykes is down and out, Dave, but the Hex Breaker wasn’t enough for Andy Murray! He’s sending a message to Pierce and to all the other promotions’ representatives out there that HE IS THE KING. And that message is going to come in the form of an elbow to the chest... OH!!!! NO!!!!

Sykes rolls out of the way at the last moment, and Murray’s elbow meets only canvas, seeming to dent the ring as he crumples into himself. His body shakes.

Yale: I don’t believe it! He missed!

Bryan: Andy Murray had this match, Dave! He had it, but he took just a moment too long!

Yale: He took his eye off the prize, and Jared Sykes moved that prize out of his reach at the last moment!

Hal Jenkins’ wide eyes betray some concern for Murray, who is unmoving. Sykes, by contrast, has rolled over onto his back and is gasping up at the lights.

Bryan: Jared Sykes is still feeling that Hex Breaker!

Yale: Of course he is -- it's a goddamn HEX BREAKER!

Murray begins at last to stir, and the fans urge him on, clapping in time and cheering his name. But the cheers turn to boos when Jared Sykes is the first man to his feet. Raising his head up and applauding the fans...

Yale: ...as if they’re his home crowd, JB. As if he’s forgotten the crime he’s committed just by opposing the King. Round here, we call that TREASON.

Sykes paces the ring, not yet sure of his footing, blinking repeatedly in the white light. Murray is standing, but bent double. Jared Sykes almost feels bad about it, but it’s got to happen.

Bryan: OOOH. Painful neckbreaker across the knee of Jared Sykes.

Yale: Murrr is in trouble.

He is. He really is. Because Sykes looks around one last time, and scowls. He banishes every member of this crowd from his mind, and his eyes catch on the skybox. Alexandra Pierce. She’s watching. Sykes grimaces. And he pores over Andy Murray. He bends his arm back on itself. He locks his arms together. He squeezes.

A deathly silence falls over the arena.

Bryan: (whispering) Lightning Helix...

Murray kicks his legs. A horrible scream escapes him.

Yale: He’s done. I don’t believe it. He’s done.

The Scottish King of Cool has no answer.

DING! DING! DING!

Hal Jenkins shakes his head with disappointment as the bell rings.

Andrews: Here is your winner, and advancing to the second round... JARRRRED! SYYYYKES!

His words aren’t even audible, because the fans are rioting. No, really, they are. A dirty dozen of their own has scaled the barricade, streaming into the ring, yelling at Sykes, shoving him. Security guards arrive in twos and threes, wheezing, holding people back. Andy Murray lies prone in ring centre.

Bryan: Jared Sykes did it, Dave. He made Andy Murray tap.

Yale: It makes me sick.

Bryan: SCCW’s champion came to GCW and made our longest reigning champion of ALL TIME tap out.

Another group of angry fans has scaled the rigging adjacent to the skybox. Soon enough they’re crawling all over the outside like spiders, banging on the glass. A pane caves in.

Bryan: This needs to stop! This has gone too far!

Yale: Find the bitch! Find her!

Bryan: Dave!

Yale: I don’t ever want to see the word SCCW again. Not in GCW, not ever!

Bryan: This has gotten out of control! We need some more help in here!

In the ring, Murray rolls over and gazes up at the lights. But something blocks his view. It’s Jared Sykes. He pulls Murray to his feet, and shakes his hand. Murray looks away. He appreciates the gesture. But Andy Murray hates losing. He hates it more than anything. And he storms away, a sour taste in his mouth. Jared Sykes’ joy at winning the match turns once more to frustration. Tonight, he can’t do anything right.

Back to Top

Bryan: A truly shocking defeat for Andy Murray, Dave. We just are not used to seeing that man lose matches.

Yale: He had it, JB. He had it and he threw it away, and that asshole in the ring took it from him. I tell you what, JB, the security guys are going to have a job on their hands getting this Sykes guy out of here safely.

Bryan: They do a hell of a job every week for us, Dave, and this week will have to be no exception because we’re scheduled to be just moments away from a HUGE main event.

Yale: Jay Terror. Tim Shipley. Unquestionably two of GCW’s top talents. I can’t wait to see them take to the ring. Shipley holds a clean victory over Terror -- not many people can say that.

Bryan: But it did come in a tag match. Shipley was ironically teamed with Andy Murray, while Jay Terror was partnered up with Clyde Fox and not for the first time.

Yale: Tag match or not, JB, Shipley kept Jay Terror down for the three count, and Jay will be livid about that. He will be desperate to put that right.

Bryan: Well, as we get the ring area cleared out, we’re going to go backstage where I believe we’re going to hear from Jay Terror ahead of that exciting main event.

The Megatron shows Terror standing close to the gorilla position with unnecessarily attractive interviewer Sally Ford. Sally waits for a cue, smiling into the camera, while Jay taps his feet and wipes his hand across his mouth.

Ford: I’m standing with one of GCW’s most decorated wrestlers, "The Outlaw" Jay Terror just moments ahead of his meeting with Rampage Tournament winner, Tim Shipley. Jay, you were many people’s favourite to finally regain the GCW World Heavyweight Championship at Rampage, but instead you lost out to Tessa Windsor, who went on to defeat Clyde Fox for the belt.

Jay Terror: Yeah. Guess it's not exactly on my shoulder, huh?

Ford: You’ve faced Tim Shipley before, Jay -- and you’ve also worked for him, alongside your GCW commitments in Just Wrestling, where you hold the record for longest championship reign--

"And then he lost to Steve Harrison, and ran away."

Sally and Jay’s heads both turn to see Tim Shipley strutting towards them in his ring gear.

Ford: Tim Shipley -- cometh the man, cometh the hour... or something like that.

Shipley: Something like that.

He eyeballs Terror, who returns the stare with a trace of a smile, perhaps amused at the younger man’s effort at matching Terror’s menace.

Ford: I wasn’t expecting either of you out here for several minutes.

Shipley: Yeah, funny that, isn’t it. I always like to be on time, but it looks like Jay beat me to it. Doubtless some sort of "mind game".

He accentuates the point with air quotes made with his fingers. Terror stifles a laugh.

Ford: It seems to me that you’re more than adept at playing mind games of your own, Tim.

Shipley: Hey, maybe Jay just played them a little better tonight.

Terror tugs at his bandana, grinning.

Jay Terror: I guess so.

Shipley: Still. It’s one thing to turn up at the curtain before me, knowing that I don’t like to feel rushed. But it’s quite another to know that I’ve gone out and pinned you in that ring. To know that you’re fighting to level us up at 1-1. To know that the message stitched into my tights is true.

Shipley taps his thighs, Terror’s eyes drawn to the words "JUST" and "BETTER".

Ford: So Tim, how do you think Jay is--

Shipley whips round to glare at the blonde.

Shipley: Does anyone really think you’re needed here?

Ford: I just wanted to get a few words from both of you.

Shipley: We’re quite capable of doing that unsupervised.

Terror nods, giving Sally a knowing look.

Jay Terror: He's right. The smile's worn off.

Out of arguments, the interviewer departs, dejected. Terror turns his cold eyes on Shipley.

Jay Terror: Quit acting so big, Shipley; we both know your trunks are there to boost that ego of yours. Last I heard, a few words didn't win a guy a wrestling match let alone the biggest match GCW has to offer.

Jay crosses his arms as he relives his Dangerous Games accolades.

Shipley: Maybe so, Jay. But think about it this way. How long can you go on being the "next" champion? How long can you do that when there’re guys like me coming up and winning tournaments... winning a title shot whenever I bloody well please... taking YOUR place in the queue?

Jay Terror: Taking my place? You had someone shove a girl off the top rope, Tim. Quit tooting that horn. I understand that few people have won that tournament but when it comes down to it, I got where I am today without it. I made a name for myself outside of Rampage and earned my title shots on my own accord. You're new here still, Shipley, so please take a number and beat me one on one before you get that special feeling inside.

Shipley: When I pinned you in that ring, Jay, let me tell you how it felt. It didn’t feel special. It wasn’t a milestone. It didn’t seem like my big moment had come. It felt NORMAL. Because beating you is not a big deal, Jay. I’ve done it. Tessa’s done it. For God’s sake... even Steve Harrison has done it. You’re not a LeStatt Knight, you’re not even an Andy Murray. And you never will be. So stop... fucking... trying.

Shipley shoves Terror in the chest and storms down the corridor without a backward look. Then he stops walking.

Jay Terror: Heh, we got a --

Shipley: A match, yeah, I know that. Just shut up, all right.

Shipley returns to the gorilla position, standing just feet from Jay, looking determinedly at the floor.

Jay Terror: Yeah. Just so you know... you may not have done this before... we gotta wait just here, see, by the curtain. And not go storming off and --

Shipley: I said all right.

They stand there in silence, Shipley looking at the floor, Terror looking at him.

Jay Terror: We got a couple minutes yet...

Shipley: SHUT. UP.

Back to Top

Let’s go backstage again, shall we? What do we see? A familiar sight tonight. Chris Storm, Rikki Roxx, and Johnny the Kid are still having their fun with their golf cart, seemingly running unchecked. At this point everyone backstage knows the scramble when they hear them coming. For many, however, it is too late. Armed with water guns and balloons, they soak anyone foolish enough to cross their path. Turning yet another corner in the arena (how many are there back there?) they come to a screeching halt.

The other end of the hall? Only the head of security, Toad. He doesn’t look to be in a very good mood. The sight of his deep scowl brings a smile to Chris’ face.

Toad: End of the road guys, fun is up.

Storm: You should know better, Toad. The fun for me never ends.

Reaching his foot over to the driver’s side, Chris stomps down hard on the gas causing the golf cart to charge full steam ahead.

THUD-THUD!

That sound? Its Toad being ran over by a tricked out golf cart. Johnny the Kid quickly looks over his shoulder.

Johnny: He alright?

Storm: Why don’t we go check?

Throwing into reverse, Chris again stomps down on the gas from the passenger side.

THUD-THUD!

That one? Just Toad being ran over again.

Storm: See. He’s fine. Now let’s go, I hear Tempest has on white today.

Roxx: FORWARD MEN!!

Rikki damn near jumps into the front seat, getting Johnny to once more slam on the gas.

THUD-THUD!

Yeah, they ran over Toad again. Guy isn’t having a good day is he? Only this time he seems to hang onto the back bumper, slowing down the progress of the golf cart. Chris looks back and sees what’s going on, grabbing a shaving cream balloon from the floor. Leaning over the seat he nails Toad square in the face as Rikki gives him a bath with the water gun. The ensuing explosion of water and shaving cream causes Toad to lose his grip and he flops face first onto the concrete, allowing the gang to make an easy escape. Johnny even looks back to see what is going on, though he should have been keeping his eyes on the road.

CRASH!

That one is the sound of a tricked out golf cart crashing into a wall at five miles per hour. The three are violently thrown from the golf cart as he burst into flames. Chris watches with horror as his cardboard cutout of Markus Stone is unable to escape in time and becomes entrapped in the inferno.

Storm: NO!!!!!!!

He tries to lunge forward to save him but Johnny the Kid and Rikki are there to stop him.

Johnny: It’s not worth it! It was only cardboard!

Roxx: And besides, he was a dick!

Chris stops and thinks about it for a second.

Storm: You’re right; he was kind of a dick. Acting like he was too good to talk to us and I don’t think I ever saw him throw a single water balloon. I’m actually kind of glad he’s dead down. Let’s go celebrate by finding a water hose and seeing if we can’t spray Tempest and Tessa.

Roxx: ROXX ON!

And they all laugh at Rikki’s joke. The end.

Bryan: What the hell was that?

Yale: I don’t know, but that should be a lesson to everyone. Never wear your seatbelts. It will kill you if your car or tricked out golf cart burst into flames.

Bryan: I just hope Toad is ok.

Back to Top

Inside the locker room of the World Champ, Rikki Roxx, Chris Storm, and his mentee turned best buddy Johnny sit perched up against the wall, doing their best to keep a straight face. It’s obvious that the trio had already cause their fair share of chaos based on the smug smirk that occupied Chris Storm’s face. His wife, however, stands before them in the center of the room at a complete and utter loss for words.

She bites down on her bottom lip, doing her best to keep her composure.

Windsor: So let me get this straight. You jacked a golf cart. Creamed Murray with a shaving cream filled balloon. Ran over Toad with said golf cart. And then completely totaled it on top of all that?

Storm: That about sums it up.

Johnny: I found a woman handcuffed to a bathroom urinal. Is that normal in the wrestling business?

Roxx: Only on the weekends. AAALLLLLLLLRRRRRRIIIIIGGGGG-

Rikki has to stop mid "ALLLLLLRRIIIIIGGGHHHHTTT!" because of the look Tessa gives him.

Windsor: And now you’ve got half the place ready to wring your neck. Perfect.

As she begins to pace her arms fold across her chest in an all too familiar manner for Chris. Well, it would have been familiar if he were actually paying attention. Instead from the corner of her eyes Tessa spots Chris inching her title belt toward him.

Windsor: What are you doing?

Chris looks down, seeing the leather strap in his hand. He has a look of shock and awe on his face, as if he is somehow completely in disbelief.

Storm: How did that get there? Must be instincts. Bad hand! BAD!

He slaps his hand, releasing the belt. Tessa sighs. She typically does that a lot around him.

Roxx: Can I hold it?

Johnny: How about me?

Storm: I wanna hold it too!

See, she sighed again. To be fair, they are all morons.

Again Tess bites down on her lip, doing what she can to keep her composure. Thankfully, common sense washes over her and she’s blessed with a bit of knowledge that would have benefited her ages ago.

Windsor: Sorry, you guys are out of luck. I’ve got other matters I need to attend to. So I seriously hope you guys have some good excuses mustered up cause I’m not bailing you out of this one. I need to get going.

She snatches the belt from Chris’ lap which causes Chris’ bottom lip to curl outward in pouting manner. She completely disregards it, heading straight out the door, her belt slung casually over her shoulder. It’s not until she gets outside of the door that she stops to adjust it. Looking down at her own reflection, she'd often dreamed of the day when she would...

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

Slowly turning away from her reflection in the awe of leather and gold, she looks into the eyes of an old friend. Clapping with a sarcastic smirk on her face, the crowd jeers as Vivica J. Valentine appears on their screen.

Valentine: So your day finally came, huh? You didn't need my help or anything. I'm so proud of you.

Now standing up after leaning against the wall outside of Tessa's locker room, Vivica adjusts her own title that lays fastened diagonally across her chest like a sash.

Valentine: You only had to beat your boyfriend, Caldera's poodle, and a child to get the job done. I guess all of us can't be blessed with having to face the longest reigning GCW World Heavyweight Champion of all time before facing arguably the greatest wrestler in GCW history back-to-back in order to win something. How'd you do it Tess? How did you defeat such great odds?

Smug smile on her face, Tessa crosses her arms and pops her own question to her former best friend.

Windsor: I don’t know Vivi. I just don’t know. But say, couldn’t have been any more grueling than say facing Axel Action now, could it have been? I mean, oh my god, what better way to say you’re still queen bee than to beat the man that couldn’t even beat Dan freaking Black, right?

She props herself up against the wall, obviously knowing that she was not going to escape the yipping of Vivica Valentine anytime soon. If she was going to have to listen she might as well make herself comfortable, right?

Valentine: AXEL Action isn't here tonight, because he was rewarded by thinking he could run with me by losing his ability to speak. I crushed his adam's apple. He had to have emergency surgery as soon as our match was over. I told him I'd rip out his fucking throat... and I did. You see because that's what a champion does, Tessa. A champion makes big proclamations, and then they prove it.

Getting in Tessa's face, Vivica goes on.

Valentine: I told the world that I was going to bring down the longest reigning champion in GCW History, then I did. I was told Lia Ambrosi's title reign was something that today's generation of wrestling fans should remember because it would never be broken, then I broke it. Andy Murray broke my record before he ever had to face me. Even knowing that, everytime you look into the mirror you're going to see that championship over your shoulder and you're going to ask yourself... "What do I have to do to be the best champion I can be? What do I have to do to be better than the person who held this before me?" What's your answer?

Tessa’s eyes roll.

Windsor: For one I’m not going to listen to your garble. Really Viv? Is what you’ve been reduced to? Trying to intimidate me and make me think I’m crap because I didn’t piss and moan my way to the top? Sorry. Not buying it one bit. Tell you what though, while were reminiscing on your days of glory remind me what happened the last time you faced Jay Terror for a world title?

Valentine: Steven Caldera sprung an impromptu World Title Match on me the week after I had my biggest World Title defense. Something I think you should learn from because it can happen to you, and if Caldera decides he wants to play around with our lives again... he will. Don't take his absence for granted Tessa. You're vulnerable. I see the way you're walking. I know you're in pain. Me? I feel great. Could you beat me right now, Tess?

The Bulletproof Blonde smirks.

Valentine: Willing to bet your title on it?

Tessa glances down at her belt, then back at Vivica, her smile never once fading.

Windsor: As much as I’d love to have you tie with Terror with most abysmal record against the perennial underdog, I think it’d the biggest waste of my time yet. I mean come on, how many times do I have to beat you to convince you that I’m simply better? You’re nearing Jay Terror type delusions with this whole having to beat me to prove something.

Valentine: Just remember, Tess...

Vivica backs away, adjusting the championship around her chest.

Valentine: Dangerous Games is coming. I plan on winning and going to NC-17, and bringing this with me.

Knocking on her GCW United States Championship she takes a few steps backwards.

Valentine: Knight. Murray. Valentine. Ambrosi. You got some big shoes to fill, sunshine. I hope they don't swallow you whole.

Tessa rolls her eyes and brushes past Valentine.

Windsor: Have fun living in the past Vivi. It’s bout the only thing you’ve got left to brag about.

Before Viv can get another word in edgewise Tessa round the corner off to wherever.

Yale: Look at the audacity of our World Champion, just marching away like that without thanking Vivica for her advice!

Bryan: Advice? Please. We all know what Vivica really wants.
Yale: And Shipley. And Terror. And the entire place. Come on JB, even you should know that Tessa’s got a bulls-eye glued straight to her chest. Actually, make that two bulls-eyes. Two very big bulls-eyes.

Bryan: You’re a pig. Anyways, speaking of Terror and Shipley, let’s cut back to the ring where our Main Event is ready to kickoff.

Back to Top

Andrews: The following match is scheduled for one fall!

Yale: And it's the main event!

Bryan: That's right, and what a main event we have here! In a way, it's almost as if Jay Terror is taking on his younger self in this one. The similarities are endless.

Yale: Unfortunately for Jay Terror though, he didn't quite win at Rampage as Tim Shipley did.

Bryan: And that's more of a reason to get back on the horse and make a push toward showing why he deserves a title shot. For Tim Shipley, beating Terror would be an incredible push that, many would believe, puts him into the world title picture as well.

Yale: I would hope not! Jay still has a shot from last years Dangerous Games match that he never cashed in and he should get that before Shipley gets anything.

Bryan: Then it's up to Jay to prove that tonight. This is his chance to show Shipley why he chose GCW over Just Wrestling.

The house lighting fades, and white spotlights bear down on the stage as a cacophony of crashing and bleeping is heard. "Please welcome: Tim Shipley. Does not compute. Does not compute...", moans a robotic voice, and momentarily the ugly strummings of Ash's "Astral Conversations With Toulouse Lautrec" blast into the fans' ears.

Andrews: Making his way to the ring, being accompanied by Cheap Labor... from Milton Keynes, England, weighing in at 225 pounds... TIM! SHIPPPPLEEYYYYYYY!!!

Bryan: Well I'm assuming that we won't be seeing Cheap Labor at his side tonight. At Rampage we actually saw Shipley walk out on Labor in their tag match with Chris Bagwell and Andy Murray.

Yale: And think about it, he may have made the best decision of his life. Saving energy by leaving that match may have helped him beat Tempest.

Shipley comes through the curtain, his tights gleaming in the oppressive lighting. As he begins to make his way to the ring, it's easy to tell that he's been through hell at the recent pay-per-view.

Bryan: You gotta' wonder how fit Shipley is to fight tonight too.

Yale: He went through some grueling circumstances and three matches, but I think when the bell rings, we'll see him come out as strong as ever.

Shipley enters the ring to a chorus of boos and insulting chants, of which the Englishman takes precisely zero notice. Shipley flexes his upper-body muscles awaiting Terror's arrival.

"As we proceed..."

The audience begins to stand from their seats as they turn their attention to the JumboTron.

"...To give you what you need."

Andrews: Making his way to the ring, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania weighing in at 187 pounds. . . JAAAYY TERRROOORRR!

Bryan: And here comes a man who has got to be kicking himself after his missed opportunity. He had Tessa and really showed his brutal tendencies in that match, but she ended up beating him in the end.

Yale: But tonight, I don't see him holding back again. I think he's going to be as mean and cheap as ever because this one's so important.

The curtains break open and Jay Terror walks straight out wearing only a pair of tattered jeans and his signature bandanna. Sunglasses cover his devilish eyes and he offers a slight smirk for those looking his way. As the music picks up, Terror begins his stomp down to the ring cracking his knuckles and neck. He slides under the bottom rope and into the center of the ring where he fastens his belt to the right setting. To the corner he heads where he waits for the match to get underway.

Bryan: Well we have two guys that have earned their spot into the main event scene but only one can win. Who do you think will end up walking away with this one, Dave?

Yale: It's tough and I think it depends where the battle takes place, but I think Terror will be able to keep on his feet and beat Shipley with his striking. He's gotta' stay on his feet though.

Bryan: It's time to find out.

DING! DING!

It's Jay Terror that makes his attack first as he gets his feet moving with a charge. Shipley grins at the attempt and sends him overhead with a quick armdrag. Jay rolls but lands on his feet. Shipley watches him charge once again, this time a little slower, and grabs him again for a well placed arm drag. As if he'd eaten Clyde Fox's wheaties, Terror rolls to his feet again, this time trying to put all he can in a third run. Shipley shakes his head though, stops Terror dead in his tracks, and whips him high into the air with a hip toss. Terror crashes over Tim's excellent knee placement forcing Terror to stay down.

Bryan: Crushing move by Shipley! That's one way to keep Jay down.

Yale: I'd say. He just kicked the dog scared with that move.

Shipley remains on the attack and comes up behind Terror. He wraps his arms around his neck, looking for the sleeper hold, but Terror denies the attempt by scrunching his neck down. Shipley tries to isolate the neck but instead, Terror's able to get his hands between the lock and roll forward.

Yale: And great job by Jay to avoid that submission. I'm serious; he needs to stay off the ground and away from those kinds of locks for as long as possible.

Bryan: He's playing smart; that's for sure.

But not smart enough as Tim Shipley follows Terror to his feet. He clubs him in the back with a strong forearm. Grabbing Terror around the waist, he locks his fingers before using all his strength to whip the 187-pounder overhead for a German suplex. Remaining agile though, Terror manages to avoid the impact by flipping completely onto a standing base. Before Shipley can turn around, Terror makes a dive at the back of his legs with a great chop block. The momentum sends his neck dangling over the bottom rope.

Bryan: He took him out from the knees. Jay Terror really has no morals when it comes to winning out there, Dave.

Yale: We know what this means to him though. I think he should do all he can. Look at him now!

What David Yale and the rest of Anaheim watch is Jay Terror placing his boot on the back of Shipley's neck. His neck is still hanging on the bottom rope making an illegal choke that only the Marlboro man would come to. He holds the choke as referee Josh Briggs begins his count.

Bryan: All he can? You'd think he would have some decency for the Rampage tournament winner after all he went through. I understand being cut throat but this just seems like plain torture.

Yale: It's why they have a five-count, JB. Loosen up; it's the next world champion we're watching here.

Bryan: You mean Shipley or Terror?

Terror releases his choke at the last possible second before being disqualified. He brings him to his feet and shoves the Englishman into the nearest turnbuckle. Lining up, he sends a wicked chop across his exposed chest. The fans, although against his antics, take notice and annunciate the sound for the television audience to hear. He follows with a second chop and then one more for good measure. Grabbing Shipley around the neck, Terror whips him overhead with a great snapmare that leaves him seated in front of Jay. The Established one follows with a dropkick to the back of the neck.

Yale: Well it's completely in Jay's favor now and I think he's going to keep it that way if he can continue at this pace.

Bryan: You have to wonder how many cigarettes he smoked after that loss at Rampage though. I'm sure they must have slowed him down noticeably.

Terror takes a deep breath, pretending like he can't feel the steel cage or the cigarettes. He follows Shipley and grabs him by the head. Lifting him to his feet, he lines him up for a standard DDT. With a grin, Terror looks to execute before Shipley makes his case. He flips him overhead for a brilliant Northern Lights suplex and keeps the bridge for a pin attempt. Josh Briggs slides in for the count.

...1!


...2!


Yale: Terror can't lose! Not yet!


...KICKOUT!

Bryan: I'll tell you what, quit counting out Shipley. He beat David Spencer, he beat Tempest, and he's in line to be a great world champion in the future. The guy is methodical and I wouldn't be surprised if Terror gets caught by some of his magic here.

Yale: It's Jay Terror. Sure, Shipley's good, but Terror's hall of fame material.

Bryan: Sometimes, the cheating comes at a price though. That's all I know.

Both men get back to their feet and surprisingly, Terror remains on the attack with another charge. Shipley, a little dumbfounded, ducks under a weak closeline and follows on Terror's rebound with a fast powerslam. The impact continues to work on his spine. The Cavalier lifts Terror to his feet and grabs him by the wrist. With a short-whip, Shipley draws Terror back in for a head-chopping closeline of his own. He keeps his hold on the wrist though and uses it to pull Terror back to his feet. Instead of power, Shipley looks to his credentials and uses his side headlock to wear down Terror's breathing.

Bryan: Well, Terror's stuck in the worst case scenario now and Tim Shipley knows it. We saw him utilize his submissions and overall technical wrestling at Rampage and even before that. It's what he's known for.

Yale: Terror's been working at countering technical wrestling though. Sources told me.

Bryan: Working on it is different then being able to perform it. I think Terror's fading fast.

Jay Terror does indeed look to be fading as his arms begin to fall to his sides. Shipley appears to squeeze harder now as Terror makes sudden movements to break it. At his brink, Jay Terror finds himself and shuts his eyes doing all he can. It starts with a thrust of the elbow to the chest. He follows again with another elbow. Elbow after elbow, Shipley begins to feel the burning in his chest until he finally lets go. Like a cannonball, Terror explodes at the ropes and returns with a high voltage shoulder block.

Yale: There's the escape!

Bryan: He just ran out of that faster than Andy Murray in New Jersey.

The block topples Shipley for a moment and he tries to get up. Seeing his opportunity, Terror lines up his boot and winds up for a vicious World Cup caliber kick across the jaw line. Shipley rolls onto his back immediately nursing his jaw.

Yale: RONALDO!

Bryan: What a shot to the face. Terror may have just sent Tim back to England with that one.

Terror remains on the attack and lifts Tim off the mat. He gives him a stiff knee to the mid-section before dropping him for a perfect DDT. Rolling Tim over, Terror hooks the leg and waits for Josh Briggs to slide in.

...1!


...2!


...KICKOUT!

Bryan: The DDT won't do it tonight, folks.

Yale: But the bandstand bust will.

Bryan: You saw what Shipley did to our announce table, Dave. I think Shipley has his own mind-blowing arsenal.

Terror continues to stay on the offensive end of things and whips Tim into the corner again. Following, Terror takes a giant lunge forward hitting a giant splash.

Yale: Oh no!

Unfortunately, Shipley isn't home and Terror finds the face of the turnbuckles across his chest. Shipley has him from behind and quickly locks in a perfect hammerlock. Backing him away from the ropes, Shipley follows with the sweep bringing the submission to the ground with great impact.

Bryan: That hammerlock sweep will take you out of things fast. Great awareness of that splash to get to where he is now.

Yale: Too bad for Jay. Shipley took him far enough away from the ropes that he's going to have to crawl to get there.

Terror's first instinct is to use his hands and feet to find the ropes but he comes up short on all angles. Feeling the pain slowly rising, Terror tries to calm himself. Shipley, the skilled technician that he is, doesn't allow relaxation in his hold though. He squeezes harder, forcing Terror's air flow to slowly diminish.

Bryan: This is just where Shipley wanted him to be.

Yale: And you know what, I bet Terror goes out in a ball of glory if he can't break this. He's not tapping to some English ponce!

Bryan: Jay's not that stupid. He'll tap out when he's good and ready.

But tapping out doesn't seem to be on Terror's mind. He's lying limp, trying to remain focused on calm. The lock continues to tighten and Josh Briggs finds it necessary to check on the former world champion. He lifts his arm for a first time and unlike most would believe, Terror keeps it up.

Bryan: He looks absolutely dead in there.

Yale: I think he's found his happy place, JB.

Bryan: This isn't Happy Gilmore. He's being choked out by a premiere submission artist!

Shipley adjusts himself and finally gets a rise out of Terror. He can feel his blood slowing and his heart racing. Terror begins to crawl toward the ropes and Shipley gives him an inch. He maintains control though forcing Terror to try and use his free hand to get between the lock. As well, his legs remain focused on crawling to the ropes. Shipley avoids the hand but unfortunately loses sight of the ropes. As he shoves the bandit hand off, it reaches out and fingertips the bottom rope. Shipley holds his submission deep into Josh Brigg's count and releases just as Jay would.

Bryan: Jay may have broke free there but you know he's feeling that one. His whole high-energy game plan is surely derailed now.

Yale: Give him some time. He'll find a way to catch his breath.

Shipley doesn't allow him to catch anything and brings Terror back to his feet. He kicks him before bringing him over for a scoop slam. In true fashion, he follows with a pin-point fist drop that rocks Jay's face. He hooks the leg for a cover.

...1!


...2!


...KICKOUT!

Yale: Look at the heart Jay Terror has.

Bryan: And look at the advantage Shipley has. Terror's going to need to step up if he wants to close this one.

Shipley's shaking his head at the near-fall now and brings Terror back up. This time he shoves him into the turnbuckle. Climbing over top of him to the second rope, Shipley begins to strike The Outlaw with an army of punches across the face. He starts with one, follows with a second, and then even throws a third.

FOUR!

FIVE!

The crowd calls out six as well, and they call out seven. At seven however, Shipley doesn't land the shot. Terror grabs the punch and uses his free arm to take out The Cavalier's crumpets with a sharp and nasty low blow.

Bryan: What was that?!

Yale: Terror just found his upper-hand, JB!

Referee Josh Briggs rushes in to scold Terror but Terror's already in his sequence. He lifts Shipley and slams him with a hard spinebuster just beside the ropes. Briggs continues to threaten to stop the match as Terror returns to the corner and climbs onto the second rope. Jay claims it was a reaction and doesn't wait to fight anymore. Instead, he leaps off with a flying elbow drop that connects across the chest. Jay hooks the leg and pins again.

...1!


...2!



...KICKOUT!

Yale: How's he still kicking out?!

Bryan: Because he's the real deal. Terror's going to need to dig deeper into his arsenal if he expects to finish off a man like Tim Shipley.

Josh Briggs continues to harp on Terror. He tries to explain himself and manages to talk his way out of it before Shipley can get to his feet. Terror grabs him from his knees and whips him at the ropes. Although heavily winded, Terror makes strides toward the opposite ropes. Both men run directly at each other and it's Terror that pulls out his running STO. Unlike himself, he follows by getting onto Shipley's back and locking in a loose rear naked choke.

Bryan: Terror with a submission?

Yale: I think he's trying to catch a breath with this one.

Bryan: There's better ways to do that. He's going to have to struggle to keep this tight and that's a battle in itself.

Jay shows his novice submission skills but remains on the back while Shipley attempts to buck him off. He's got the neck wrapped properly, but he can't seem to get his legs around Shipley's midsection. Tim uses his hands to get between Terror's fingers and, one by one, he plucks them loose.

Bryan: He's picking him apart here.

Yale: I did say that he was working on his technical skills.

Bryan: Exactly.

Shipley frees himself and rolls out from under Jay. Jay gets back to his feet first hoping to stay in charge and grabs Shipley for a snap suplex. Ready to flip him onto his back, Terror finds himself blocked by a well placed center of gravity. He tries again but finds the same bad luck. Shipley, the suplex expert it would seem, is able to land a knee before turning the tables for a snap suplex of his own.

Yale: Ouch! What a fast snap he has!

Bryan: It's what he does. The guy's a machine sometimes.

Using his momentum, he brings Terror up again and this time he tucks his head between his legs. He raises his hands into the air and the crowd gives a mixed reaction.

Bryan: It's amazing how they don't know who they like more.

Yale: When you beat Tempest, you lose a lot of respect. When you curb stomp Tessa Windsor, you lose all respect. I think Shipley might have a few more fans here tonight.

Shipley pulls Terror up slowly and drops backwards sending his skull diving into the center of the ring with his pulling stump piledriver. The move is brutal and shows Terror completely sprawled out. Shipley moves in and hooks the leg for a hopeful three-count.

...1!


...2!


Yale: Kickout Jay!


Bryan: I don't know if he has it in him. Not after that cage match.


...3

And it's close to three, and the fans go wild, and everyone believes he's done it, but Josh Briggs convinces the arena and the world that Terror was able to raise his shoulder before the pin could be finished. In frustration, Shipley pounds his fist on the mat and grabs his hair. He looks to finish it all by attempting his reverse figure-4 lock.

Bryan: He wants to hit Newton's paradox here.

Yale: That very well could be the end of it all for Terror. He needs to avoid it at all costs!

Terror, almost as if he hears David Yale, kicks his legs like a temper tantrum toddler as Tim tries to tighten his hold. Finally able to get it locked in though, he realizes that Terror is only inches from the ropes. The Cavalier squeezes tight, tries to bring as much pain as possible for a fast tap, but unfortunately finds that Terror is able to touch his way free.

Yale: Yes! Terror using everything he can to avoid the submission.

Bryan: Lucky break for Jay. Now he needs to find a way to turn the tables though.

Shipley does continue to hold the submission to the full count before releasing but as he does, Terror quickly rolls outside of the ring to catch his breath.

Bryan: There's that breath you were talking about. It took him a long time to get there though.

Yale: Now that he has it though, it's time to kick into his second wind.

Bryan: I'm not sure that's going to happen though. Look at Shipley.

Indeed look at Shipley. The man is running at the far ropes and is ready to return with a perfectly placed baseball slide to the back of Jay's head. As he nears though, the footsteps grow louder in Jay's ears and at the last second, he's able to duck down beside the apron. Unable to stop, Shipley slides straight to the outside with Terror.

Yale: Great awareness!

Jay Terror grabs Tim around the head as he tries to find himself and slams him face first off the steel barricade. Shipley immediately grabs his money-making features while Terror grabs him again. This time he slams him on the ring apron. In his final move, Terror rolls Tim onto the apron, head dangling, and he climbs as well. With the world watching, Terror drops an excellent leg drop across the neck of Tim Shipley sending Jay to the outside mats again and Shipley into a complete daze.

Bryan: Terror just took out his senses with that sequence and I think he's managed to change the momentum in his favor.

Yale: He sure has. Great use of scenery to take Shipley out of his comfort zone.

Terror takes another minute to catch his breath before sliding back into the ring where Shipley is slowly getting to his feet. Terror does a full circle nodding his head as he calls for his finisher and the crowd hates him for doing it. He moves in and grabs Shipley in a reverse DDT and follows with his fast lift. As he's ready to drop him though, Shipley rolls over the back shoulder and is able to shove Terror away from him and into the corner.

Bryan: Tim Shipley escapes the bandstand bust!

Yale: And look where he's placed him. Move, Jay!

Terror turns but finds a shoulder to the stomach that situates him. Bent over, Shipley uses his legs to spring off his back and follows by flying off the top rope high into the air. Before Shipley can do anything though, Terror rolls away to avoid Shipley's finisher. Noticing it though, Shipley drops back to his feet where he is forced to bend his knees to brace for the impact.

Bryan: And now Terror dodges The Eternal Hope!

Yale: Great counter by Terror but what's next. He needs to finish him.

Terror knows what's next and he lines it up perfectly. Looking to the sky where Rich Rollins' bandana once hung, Terror focuses all his momentum into one kick. Shipley turns and sees the spot coming his way.

Yale: He's got it.

Bryan: Oh no!

Terror lunges with his superkick but Tim Shipley avoids it by mere inches sending Terror's boot directly into the turnbuckle pads.

Tim Shipley takes advantage of his miss and lunges at his face with a European uppercut. Terror is stunned in the corner long enough for Shipley to jump off his back and spring off the top rope again. He does a full moonsault and on the return grabs Terror around the neck for a perfect DDT.

Bryan: THE ETERNAL HOPE! ETERNAL HOPE!

Tim Shipley immediately hooks the leg.

...1!


...2!


Bryan: He's got it! Tim Shipley's got it!

Yale: Kick out, Jay. Come on!


...3!


DING! DING!

Yale: Oh no, Tim Shipley just beat Jay Terror.

Bryan: What a picture perfect win too. Tim Shipley came in with a strategy and he executed perfectly. What a huge win for him tonight after an even bigger win at Rampage.

Yale: It was huge and it means that he's definitely on to bigger and better things now. The man has proven his worth in GCW by beating one of the legends here.

Bryan: And without any help tonight. Great performance by the future of this company.

Andrews: Ladies and gentleman, your winner by pinfall....TIM SHIPPPPLEEEYYYYY!!!

Yale: We'll be seeing more from him soon. As for Terror, what a disappointment. He needs to get his head on straight if he wants to chase that title.

Bryan: That's for sure. For David Yale, I'm James Bryan. Thanks for tuning in! We'll see you all next week on Worldwide!

Back to Top

---

WorldWide 134 Credits

Light(bulb)s, Cameras, Action! by Leandy
Introduction by Andy
Pooping the Party by Hyde, Leah, Sammie
Tearing Ass by Shane & Andy
Clyde Fox vs. David Spencer by Ross
Consequences by Leah
The Tyger by Bryan & Justin
We Be Rollin' by Bobby
A Title's a Title Unless It's Not Yours by Dan and Sammie
Rasa vs. SurReal by CharliebillyBOOM
Not Murray by Andy & Matteh Keh
An Update on Chris Bagwell by Shane
Tempest vs. Phil Atken by Justin
Thou Shalt Respect the Beardwig by Andy/TMM, Murrr
Burying A Career by Diamond/Shaman
Chris Bagwell vs. Aaron Fujita
Scouting Missions and Twizzlers by The Joe
This Segment Brought to You By Barbasol by Bobby
Answering someones call by Andy O
The Jackal by Bryan & Justin
Andy Murray vs. Jared Sykes by Hyde
Step One: Wait At The Curtain by Hyde and Dan
Crash Course in Crashing by Bobby
Bulls-eye by Samantha, Billy, and Bobby
Tim Shipley vs. Jay Terror by Dan

---

Results compiled and archived with Backstage V2.

 

Home | Contact Us | Applications | Corporate | Site Map | About Us | Backstage | News Feeds | GCW Radio

All content © 2001-2010 Global Championship Wrestling